REN 


oY 
. PN 
RS 


\ 
SON 
ENN 
\ 


AAS 
WO WY 


\ ‘ 
NN ON 


WY 


yy 
USS 
My 
VO 


Gite 
epee 
LFF, oe 


RN 

. SO SNS 
NOS 
OS 


<e 


\ SS VMN SS 
LAY \ 


NIN 
AN 
NX 

AY 


ELLE 


Zo 





aA 


Cie 


ZI 


Ze 
YH: 


LIBRARY OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 


PRINCETON. N. J. 


PURCHASED BY THE 
MRS. ROBERT LENOX KENNEDY CHURCH HISTORY FUND. 


Division...42.A— 


Section..r.1.5.s). 





\ Sie ‘2 
hey Hi 
UX bis 


ate) 


' yy hy 


f sy ‘ f jatar 








Niele 


: 

it 

PEN 
pai 





THE LITTLE CHURCH 
AROUND THE CORNER 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2022 with funding from 
Princeton Theological Seminary Library 


https://archive.org/details/litttechurcharou00maca 





YOINYD I]}VI OL, SMOUY Uor}eIIUSy JUSSII_ 9Y} SV 









[LG ittle > Clhuech 


round the Qorner 


By 
George Wace Adam 


<>] |lustrated > 


a 
w York & Lo cae 
e Rnic 


Copyright, 1925 
by 
George MacAdam 






S57 
e 
Bake wr 


Made in the United States of America 






To 
KINDLINESS 


THE SPIRIT THAT GAVE THE LitTLE CHURCH ITS VITALITY 
GREATER THAN ANY CREED 


THE ONE THING THAT WILL MAKE OUR WORLD 
A BETTER WORLD 


Tuis Litrtte Book 
IS DEDICATED 


Ha 
tent 


Amt 
wr él 
bint” 


74, 
Ae RO A it toe. 
aa roid SD » 
sy ee Ms ar 


‘ 


Re 


co 


Tf 
‘ 


i 
y 





CONTENTS 


PROLOGUE 


PAGE 
A CuyurcH AND Two MEN . : ; . ; 3 


THE FIRST MAN 


WRESTLING WITH OLD ADAM ; ; } Wee g be, 
BarE Hanps AND A BACKBONE . ; ; et OO 
A Stray Dog anp A SYMBOL : : . Se Oo 
A PuHaARISEE LirTts THE BUSHEL . : F ONT 
AND THE LicHT SHINES OUT : : F ONO 
“THE KINDLY FOLK” . : : : : A eb 
24-CaRAT CHRISTIANITY ; 5 ‘ ; ee 
*“HoME IS THE SAILOR, HOME FROM THE SEA”. 183 


THE SECOND MAN 


Maximus IN MINIMIs . : ‘ : : re 
A VINEYARD IN HOBOKEN . ‘ i , . 219 
Socrates Put to ParisH Use . : ; . 233 


Vii 


Vill Contents 


“THE Nicut Has a THousanp Eyes” 
For Bertrer, For WorsrE 

SOBS AND SMILES 

Crossways oF “‘ Roaps or DEsTINy”’ 


“SUNSET AND EVENING STAR”’ 


PAGE 


268 
277 
308 
316 
330 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


As THE PRESENT GENERATION Knows THE LITTLE 
CHURCH . Frontisprece 


REPRODUCTION OF AN Oxtp BILLBOARD LITHOGRAPH 
ADVERTISING THE Puay “THE LitrLE CHURCH 
AROUND THE CORNER” . ‘ j : , 4 


ReEpRopwucTION OF THE LitTLE CHURCH IN SCENE 
FROM ““SALLY”’ 4 : ' : : ; 6 


Tue INTERSECTION OF FirtaH AVENUE, BroapWay 
AND TWENTY-THIRD STREET IN 1850 . ; eae: Ni 


Tue “‘CuurcH PARADE” ON FirraH AVENUE IN THE 
LATE ’60s , ‘ 7 j ‘ : ; 60 


Dr. GrorGE Henpric Hovuauton, at THE TIME 
THE CHURCH OF THE ‘TRANSFIGURATION WAS 


PorpuLARLy RECHRISTENED : . } Poa 
JOSEPH JEFFERSON ; : ‘ : ; vo 88 
GEORGE HOLLAND : : : : ; Peni ata! 
THE GRAVE OF GEORGE HOLLAND . ‘ : Si SS 


Tue CHURCH OF THE TRANSFIGURATION GETS INTO 
THE NEWSPAPERS. : : ‘ ‘ : 96 


ONE oF THE “Sona Hits” or THE ’70s_ . : . 104 


ix 


x Hlustrations 


FACSIMILE OF THE PROGRAM FOR THE GRAND TESTI- 
MONIAL AT CROSBY’S OpERA House, CHIcAGo 


Toe Montague Memoriat WINpow, Harry 
MontTAGUE AND ONE oF His CHARACTERIZATIONS 


FACSIMILE OF A NOTE FROM HARRIGAN’S THEATRE, 
TO THE Rector oF THE LittLtE Cuurcn 


Dr. Grorce HENpDRIc HouGHTON , ; : 
Tur FuNERAL OF Epwin Boortn, JuNE 9, 1893 


Tue Booth MermoriaL WINDow, Epwin Boortn, 
AND THREE oF His CHARACTERIZATIONS 


GEORGE CLARKE HovuGHTON anp Mary CREEMER 
PIRSSON AT THE TIME OF THEIR ENGAGEMENT 


Dr. GEORGE CLARKE HOUGHTON 
INTERIOR OF THE LITTLE CHURCH 


Tue Mansrirtp Memoria WInpow, RicHarp 
MANSFIELD, AND Four oF HIs CHARACTERIZATIONS 


St. Mary’s CHAPEL 

Tue Brives ofr Eiaut DECADES . : Z : 
THe CHANTRY  . : : ? : ‘ A 
“THe MarryiInc Parson” . : : : ; 
Tue Littte Cuurcn In WINTER , : ; f 


Dr. GEORGE CLARKE HOUGHTON wiTtH BIsHOP 
WHITEHEAD AND BisHoP PARTRIDGE : : 


FACING 
PAGE 


120 


132 


134 
150 
186 


198 


222 
234 
246 


258 
Q7T2 
278 
290 
302 
316 


340 


Prologue 


¢ 
val’ 
i 


i 
: ir 





A CHURCH AND TWO MEN 


It is only a small church on a New York side- 
street. As the Old World reckons age, it is a thing 
of yesterday. Yet The Little Church Around the 
Corner has its place among the famous churches 
of the world. 

The great St. Peter’s in Rome, St. Paul’s in 
London, St. Mark’s in Venice—each may boast its 
oldness, its traditions, its architectural glories; 
but none can boast with The Little Church Around 
the Corner a place in the affections of a multitude 
that are scattered far and wide as are the Seven 
Seas. 

Can you imagine a play being produced, its title, 
“St. Paul’s Cathedral’’; a novel published, “St. 
Peter’s”’; or a photoplay, “St. Mark’s?”” Mag- 
nificent as are those ancient monuments of faith, 
they lack that intimate appeal to the affections, 
that appeal to the sentimental imagination, that 
would make the name of any of them, a title to 
draw readers to a novel, spectators to a play or 
movie. 

I know of but one church whose name has been 
so used. 


A The Little Church Around the Corner 


A quarter of a century ago, a play, its sole title, 
“The Little Church Around the Corner,” had a 
successful run in New York and toured the country 
for a number of seasons. Out of the play a novel 
was written that was profitable to author and pub- 
lisher. Fifteen years ago the old play was pur- 
chased, revamped, and again offered to the public. 
(It is still being produced by stock companies.) 
Then came the movie. As a photoplay, “‘The 
Little Church Around the Corner” again toured 
America. Four years ago, the movie rights were 
repurchased, a new and elaborate photoplay made, 
and now The Little Church has not only made a 
new pilgrimage of America, but has travelled to 
South America, to Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia. 

The hand of Change is far more active in America 
than in Europe. On Manhattan Island, its sweep 
northward has been rapid, ruthless. Hotels, res- 
taurants, theatres, churches, move or are obliter- 
ated. The Little Church remains where its Found- 
er put it, three-quarters of a century ago. 

At that time Twenty-ninth Street and Fifth 
Avenue was practically open country. The parish- 
loners, as they went to and from services in “‘the 
original church,’’ had an unobstructed view to 
Madison Square on the South, to Murray Hill on 
the north. 

The city grew up to the church, grew beyond it. 
The scattered suburban dwellings gave way to 
solid brick and brownstone rows—blocks upon 





PRICE 25 CENTS. 


Me: 


: THE LITTLE CHURCH. 


A Paper-Covered Novel, Published in the Early Years of the Present Century 


The picture on the cover is a copy of the old billboard lithograph that advertised the play 
when it toured the country 





Q Church and Two Men 5 


blocks of them. Congregation and church grew. 
One small addition followed another until (and 
this was years ago) the building received its final 
outlines. Then into this residential district came 
Industry and Commerce, with their towering loft 
and office buildings. Today the house of worship 
(the tip of its surmounting cross not two score feet 
above the churchyard) is as though in a well—to 
the west, overshadowed by a ten-story office build- 
ing, to the east, by a fourteen-story loft building. 
To the north and to the south the rows of former 
residences, now given over to business, are both 
overtopped by a jagged skyline of tall buildings. 
The church around the corner whose pharisaic 
rector unwittingly was responsible for the popular 
rechristening of the neighbor in Twenty-ninth 
Street, has long since been demolished, forgotten. 
But the sight-seeing buses include that one 
Twenty-ninth Street block in their orbits, and The 
Little Church is ballyhooed many times a day. 
Taxi drivers tell you that “all out-of-town people 
want to see The Little Church.” In the vestibule, 
behind the door when it is swung open, is a visitors’ 
book. A single month showed registered visitors 
from twenty-five States, from England, from 
Germany, Australia, New Zealand, Brazil, Japan. 
With some, doubtless, the interest is a mere 
curiosity. To them, The Little Church is just 
‘one of the sights of the city.” But with many 
more it is something that touches deeper, finer 


6 The Little Church Around the Corner 


feelings; a something that brings back to the old 
church for worship a congregation that has mi- 
grated to new homes,that calls to service the hotel 
transient; a something that every year causes 
over twelve hundred couples—many from distant 
States, some from foreign countries—to chose The 
Little Church as the place where their romances 
shall be solemnized, that causes many of them to 
write, as one writes to a friend, on anniversary 
days, or to revisit the church, making sentimental 
journey to relive old memories, or to bring their 
offspring, sometimes a child to be baptized, more 
often a grown son or daughter to be married in the 
church that was the milestone in their own happi- 
ness. 

The explanation of this “something” that has 
given The Little Church its vitality and charm, is 
that two men in whose characters strength and 
kindliness were combined, imbued the church with 
their personalities. In seventy-five years, The 
Little Church Around the Corner, or, as it was orig- 
inally and is still formally known, the Church of 
the Transfiguration, had only two rectors: the 
founder, Dr. George Hendric Houghton, who, after 
a ministry of a half a century, died on November 
17, 1897, and his nephew, Dr. George Clarke 
Houghton, who died on April 17, 1923. 

It is said that a man reveals his character by the 
house he builds. The Little Church has a simple 
dignity touched by quaintness—unexpected pro- 


punolsyI¥q 9Y} UI YOINYD 3} 
9483-91] 94} e10joq Aj1ed BZulppam oY] ‘woroNpoid plejser7Z juaoal & ,,*A][BS,, UI o[VUY 9Y4} SMOYS oiNjO1d oY] 


w2a1IS 
oY} UO puv o8v}g 9} UO Ulesy pUe oUII], pasp Useg Sey JouIOD oy} puNnoIy YoINYD a]}4V] oUL 








Q Church and Two Men | 


jections, many gables, odd mullioned windows, and 
yet the effect of the whole is one of harmony—an 
individuality that knows tradition. The church is 
only one story high, but within is that cool and 
dusk, that atmosphere usually found only in deep 
forests and ancient cathedrals, balm to the way- 
worn spirit. 

Outside, little houses for the birds among its 
branches, stands the lone survivor of the group of 
old trees that used to shade the churchyard. (The 
others have succumbed to city air.) Those bird- 
houses were not what bird-houses so often are— 
casual expressions of an altruistic sentimentality. 
They revealed a real sentiment of kindliness to- 
ward the needy that extended to bipeds that were 
without feathers and that gave little indication of 
ever having wings. The old “Tenderloin” was 
just a few blocks west of the church, the city 
morgue some blocks to the east. No hesitancy to 
enter a house of prostitution to hear a confession 
and administer the last sacraments. No matter how 
frail the humanity, if they wished to rescue a pal’s 
body from the morgue that it might have benefit 
of clergy, the Church of the Transfiguration was 
open to them. 

A church whose congregation was largely made 
up of the socially elect, whose memorial tablets 
and memorial windows bore the names of New 
York’s oldest families; a church that put in a 
memorial window to two faithful servants—ne- 


8 The Little Church Around the Corner 


groes, man and wife, who for years had been door- 
keepers and pew-openers! 

No clerical toadies, these two men. “The teach- 
ing and preaching and ministering here are not of 
the kind that are popular with those who ordinarily 
have the most to give, and give the most. There is 
here no withholding of the old faith, once delivered 
to the saints; no disguising of it, no diluting of it. 
There is here no abstaining from Scriptural and 
Catholic ways and practices through fear of offend- 
ing this or that man or woman who pays pew rent. 
But all is here taught and done as aforetime, with- 
out fear and without favor, whether men and 
women will hear, or whether they will forbear.”’ 

Militant believers in all the ancient forms of 
their Church, men to whom the Presence of Christ 
in the Sacrament was a vital reality; but men who, 
in the business of living, put humanity ahead of 
theology! Food, clothes, a job—they knew that, 
to the needy, these were more urgent than prayer. 

One of them, speaking from his pulpit, quoted 
that line first heard in the Roman theatre: “I am a 
man: I think nothing alien to me that concerns 
the welfare of my fellow.” 

These two men “put Christianity across” by 
the elemental method of practicing the Christianity 
they preached. It is a slow process, but it made The 
Little Church famous ’round the world. There is 
here, perhaps, a nugget of truth for our spectacular 
divines—for those who endeavor to bolster a weak- 


QA Church and Two Men 9 


kneed churchly spirit by moving pictures, radio 
programs, pagan dances. 

The two Houghtons, uncle and nephew, were The 
Little Church; their biographies are its history. 


pi 


te 


ay | 
Ey 


fide: 
Y, 


eee 


i 


i 


nets 





Che First Man 





WRESTLING WITH OLD ADAM 


“Six considerable Paper-Bags, carefully sealed, 
and marked successively, in gilt China-ink, with 
the symbols of the Six southern Zodiacal Signs, 
beginning at Libra; in the inside of which Sealed 
Bags lie miscellaneous masses of Sheets, and often 
Shreds and Snips Do you remember those 
“Biographical Documents” out of which Carlyle 
wove “some sketchy, shadowy fugitive likeness” 
of Diogenes Teufelsdrockh? 

To me has been given a somewhat similar store: 
a huge, old-fashioned, black-leather valise filled to 
bursting with paper odds-and-ends—old letters, 
newspaper clippings, isolated cash-balance-sheets, 
pencil-memoranda of divers unrelated matters, 
vagrant pages of a diary—all that jumble, relics of 
the passing day, that gravitates into the remote 
corners of desks and bureaus and closets, collects 
there without order, without system, swept to- 
gether by the hand of Chance, like dead leaves the 
wind has huddled in a fence corner. 

The occupancy of the rectory of The Little 
Church Around the Corner passed direct from 
uncle to nephew. For more than seventy years 

13 





14 The Little Church Around the Corner 


the letters that the postman delivered at 1 East 
Twenty-ninth Street were addressed to a Hough- 
ton—a permanency of family residence unusual in 
America, almost unique on Manhattan Island. 
When death ended the rectorship of the Hough- 
tons, and the rectory was swept clear of its furnish- 
ings, made ready for a new occupant, the daughter 
of the late Dr. Houghton gathered those forgotten 
accumulations in desks and bureaus and closets, 
packed them in the ancient valise. 

With this close-packed mass, I was also given a 
neat, typewritten manuscript, two hundred and 
ten pages, notes prepared by her father for a his- 
tory of The Little Church Around the Corner. 
This manuscript shall supply the main threads for 
the present book; out of the valise shall come 
threads for embroidery. 


MERELY AS BIOLOGIC BACKGROUND 


The genealogy of the Houghtons has been 
traced back, largely by conjecture, to Willus De 
Hocton, an English manor-lord of the Twelfth 
Century. It is interesting to note the motto 
on the feudal coat-of-arms, “‘Malgre le tort” 
(“Despite the wrong’’), a motto that, centuries 
later, might have been appropriately in- 
scribed upon the wall of the rectory at 1 East 
Twenty-ninth Street. 

A Ralph Houghton migrated from England 
about 1650, and settled in the wilderness, thirty- 


Wrestling with Old Adam 15 


three miles west of Boston, ten men purchasing 
the land from the Indians and founding the 
town of Lancaster. From this pioneer, the 
genealogical chain is complete, authentic. It 
includes a man who fought in one of the Colonial 
Wars, losing his life in the capture of the port of 
Cape Breton, Nova Scotia; also, two men, 
father and son, who fought in the Revolution, 
the former as an officer, later elected to the 
House of Representatives. 

Eight generations have brought the family 
from the Seventeenth to the Twentieth Century, 
just six generations intervening between the man 
whose home was burned, many of his neighbors 
massacred, by the Indians during King Philip’s 
War, and the man whose home was guarded by a 
Metropolitan Police Force. 


Let me begin the story at Deerfield, Massachu- 
setts, in a household that was typically Yankee 
Puritan, from the rectangular, clap-boarded ex- 
terior, to the souls of the inmates: Edward Clarke’ 
Houghton, his wife Fanny, and three children, 
Frederick, aged five, Sarah, aged two, and the 
baby, George Hendric. Our interest is in the 
baby. He was born February 1, 1820. 

The father died. Another baby boy arrived. 
The family purse was lean. The young mother 
moved her brood to Pittsfield, and, being a typical 
New England woman, got employment as a school- 


16 The Little Church Around the Corner 


teacher. She also rented a couple of “spare 
rooms,’ did some dressmaking, and eked a slender 
income. 


_ Early my tottering little feet were planted in 
the Puritan paths and sedulously was I taught 
to walk therein. With Saturday’s sun the week 
was done. Up into the cupboard went the play- 
things, down came the Westminster Catechism. 

I remember how once my little child liver was 
almost frightened out of me, and how I looked 
from one side to the other to see if the Devil were 
not holding out his claws to catch me and to 
carry me off, as the wickedness of the sin that I 
had committed was being set before me. I had 
told a boy, who was teasing me, that he behaved 
as if the Devil were in him. Away he ran, 
**lickety-clipety’’ to my dear good mother, and 
said: “‘George has been swearing!”’ She took 
me up on her knee and, beginning with the fall 
of Adam, went on to speak of Cain and other 
Bible sinners, and the fearful doom of the wicked, 
until I thought that Cain was nothing of such a 
sinner as I was, and that the Devil would surely 
take me in his claws right off from my mother’s 
knee. 


Broods will disintegrate into entities, and each 
entity go its own way. Frederick got from under 
the mother-wing, went to New York. George 
followed him. 


Wrestling with Old Adam 17 


When a lad of fourteen or fifteen I came to 
New York, having been taught to think, for in- 
stance, and verily thinking, that Theatre was 
only another name for hell, that all who fre- 
quented the former would surely find their place 
in the latter. 

I had here a cousin some years my senior, 
much more experienced, and not wanting in mis- 
chievous ways, to whom by his anxious mother 
I had very unwisely been held up as an example. 
We were walking one evening, this cousin and I, 
along Chatham Street. We came to the en- 
trance of the old Chatham Street Theatre. He 
stopped and said: “I dare you to goin.” He 
had the tickets ready, and in we went. The play 
was a miserable, low, wretched comedy, and a 
half hour sufficed to disgust me with the Piece 
and the Place. 

A letter was written that night by that cousin 
to his mother with somewhat this beginning: 

*“Dear Mother: You are forever holding up 
George Houghton to me as an example, and wish- 
ing that I would behave as well as he does. 
Where do you think I saw him to-night? In the 
pit of the Chatham Street Theatre!”’ 

With as little delay as possible, you may be 
sure, that mother made her way to my mother 
with that letter and said: 

“Oh, sister Fanny! sister Fanny! I am so 
sorry for you, so sorry for you. I have never 


18 The Little Church Around the Corner 


made much account of my James. I knew that 
he was a bad boy, and I always said so. I know 
that he sent to our good old Deacon Bissell, who 
is the very salt of the earth, those vile Theatre 
bills—things which the Deacon had never seen 
before, and insulted him by writing: ‘When 
gratuitous, you will please circulate.’ But your 
George—you thought that he was just about 
perfect, and you have told me so time and time 
again. But he is going to ruin as fast as ever he 
can. Who would have thought that he was so 
sly and deceitful! Here is a letter from my 
James, and where do you think that he says that 
he saw your George? In the pit of the Chatham 
Street Theatre! In the pit, in the pit! Oh sister!’ 


Forthwith the mail carried a letter from the 
mother in the Massachusetts hill-town, to her boy 
in the great wicked metropolis. It was written upon 
that old time paper, a foolscap sheet. It was filled 
with grieved clucklings. 


Why, my dear son, have you not written to 
me? It seems a long time since I have received 
a letter from you. Do you doubt a mother’s 
love, her sympathy, because her heart has been 
sorely grieved? You need not. She loves you 
with the same affection, feels that you have 
trials which patience and mildness on your part 
will make lighter. . . . The reason you have 


darestling with Old Adam 19 


so much difficulty is you have forgotten God, 
your Maker. You have lost all religious feeling, 
perhaps restraint. You have turned to the world 
for enjoyment, sought your own way. You 
have not been looking to your Heavenly Father 
for help. Oh think of those happy moments 
when your Bible was so precious. You then 
loved the Savior and would have served him. I 
fear you did not count the cost, when the path 
Mother’s heart desired for you, was left. Re- 
member, dear George, Mother did not choose for 
you. Now you must perform the part you have 
chosen, faithful, but first return to God, your 
Savior, then in his fear discharge your duty. 

Any thing I can do to comfort you, to as- 
sist any way, I shall always be most happy to 
do. How much I love you; how much it has 
added to my happiness in days gone by to have 
you with me; how much I have thought of the 
days yet to come if we both lived. . . . Tell 
me if I can do anything for you. Do you need 
shirts? 


He never went again to a theatre. 
From another letter, written some months later: 


. . All are now sunk in slumber, except the 
occupants of the front chamber, two medi- 


calsiriar, 7 
Aunt N. does sigh for the society of 


20 The Little Church Around the Corner 


theselectclan. . . . Professor D. is with us to 
throw out a few thoughts to enliven the scene. 


Necessity may compel the taking of “‘roomers,”’ 
but the clan is “‘select,’’ breathes an academic at- 
mosphere! As I said, the household was charac- 
teristically New-Englandish. 

Meanwhile, George, the boy whom a mother’s 
worry pictured turning “to the world for enjoy- 
ment,’ was working in a store during the day, 
studying the “‘dead languages”’ and mathematics 
at night. No solemn saint, this boy. When his 
younger brother came to the city, their mother 
wrote: “I know you will not let your love of fun 
and mischief lead you to do anything to make his 
visit unpleasant.” Possibly he learned of other 
things than the “‘dead languages”? and mathema- 
tics. My knowledge of boys tells me that he did. 
Of this, however, there is no whisper from the past. 
But from the old black-leather valise I have fished 
out two documents that, put together, give sub- 
stance to a tale that cannot be told of every boy 
foot-loose in a big city. 


December 8, 1837. 


I have known George Houghton about four 
years and have had him in my store nearly a 
year. From what I know of his character and 
ability, I have no hesitation in saying that a 


restling with Old Adam 21 


more faithful and competent young man can 
not be found, and I have no doubt but that he 
will give entire satisfaction to whom ever shall 
employ him. 
Gro. G. SHEPPARD, 
591 Broadway, N. Y. 


Tarry Town AcADEMY, 
March 21, 1838. 


Mr. Hovueuton, Sir 


These lines are to inform you that I have 
concluded to have you come up and assist me 
in school. The Steam Boat Union will come out 
to-morrow morning at 8 o'clock, foot of Barclay 
Street, and stop at the old State prison wharf. 
I would like to have you bring a recommenda- 
tion with you from the person you are taking 
lessons of, relative to your qualifications in 
Latin and Greek, the other branches I can 
determine myself. 

I remain Yours, with respect 
A. NEWMAN. 


The State prison wharf mentioned by Mr. 
Newman was the one at Sing Sing, six miles dis- 
tant from Tarrytown. Even with this added 
mileage, the steamboat was more convenient than 
the old stage coach. 

Supporting himself by teaching, he prepared for 


22 The Little Church Around the Corner 


college. His health, never robust, broke down. 
His mother wrote him: 


George, how is your health? I hoped ere this 
your health would have been restored. How I 
wish we had the means to send to you to come 
to us. I think our country air and care would 
do wonders. 


But his resolution was robust. He stuck to his 
dual task; entered the University of the City of 
New York; supported himself while there, by 
teaching; graduated, July 20, 1842, with first 
honors, the valedictorian. 

During his college years, two tendencies mani- 
fested themselves: the one, literary; the other, 
spiritual. The evidence of the one, a small maga- 
zine, The Iris, of which he and a classmate, George 
Henry Moore, were editors and publishers. The 
evidence of the other, a self-determination in the 
matter of religious belief. His mother was a mem- 
ber of the Congregational Church at Pittsfield. 
In New York, young Houghton became a member 
of the West Presbyterian Church; but in August, 
1841, he was “at his own request, dismissed and 
recommended to the fellowship of St. Luke’s 
Church (Episcopalian).”’ 

With most of us, religious denomination is a 
matter of inheritance. If there be change, any 
weighing and choosing of doctrines, it is apt to be 


Wrestling with Old Adam 23 


when time has brought a man to the sober years. 
But at twenty-one, with the world before him?— 
no, it is life, warm, colorful life that then absorbs 
his attention. 

I have already said that the boy was no solemn 
saint. Neither was the youth of twenty-one 
clammy-natured, thin-blooded, indifferent to the 
warmth and color of life. Jollity and comradeship 
he knew; romance was a thing that allured, a thing 
with which he dallied—the spring stirred its wonted 
fires. But to him, religion, the path to Heaven, 
was real, the one enduring thing, over-shadowing 
all else. With that same iron will that made him 
break his health in the earning of an education, he 
strove to chain up the “unruly regiment” within 
his breast so that he might be worthy of admittance 
to the Eternal Kingdom. 

While still in college he had decided what his 
life-work should be. Just before graduation, his 
friend, Dr. Edward Ballard, wrote him: 


I am more and more persuaded that it will be 
advisable for you to spend a year in teaching, 
before entering on the course of Theological 
study at our seminary. It will be an amazing 
relief to you to be enabled to pass through with- 
out the embarrassment of debt, which I am sure 
would be to you great, both in the anticipation 
and the reality. . 

There is another important matter, and this 


24 The Little Church Around the Corner 


is your health. You have exerted yourself 
wonderfully, and you have been wonderfully 
sustained. But the cord that is always stretched 
to its utmost tension, will at length break. As 
soon as College is over, REcREATE. Otherwise, 
your health will be gone; and then how can you 
use the learning you have so laboriously ac- 
quired? How can you then be useful, as you 
desire and ought to be, among men? Think of 
all this, and let your summer months be a 
VacaTION from study, if they are not from 
teaching. 


Whether or not he heeded Dr. Ballard’s admoni- 
tion concerning the summer vacation, the record 
does not show. He did not take the advice to post- 
pone his entry into the theological seminary. The 
autumn found him studying theology under 
Dr. Muhlenberg, at College Point, Long Island. 
It also found him teaching Greek in St. Paul’s 
College, an advanced school for youths, con- 
ducted by Dr. Muhlenberg at Flushing, Long 
Island. 

College Point and Flushing, now both within the 
bounds of Greater New York, were then out-lying 
villages, the journey thither costing considerable 
time and convenience. 

Two of the theological student’s classmates in 
college, his two cronies, continued in New York: 
George Henry Moore, to study law, paying his 


Wrestling with Old Adam 25 


way by being librarian; Marcus Lorenzo Taft, to 
study medicine, paying his way by tutoring and 
copying. 

All three were scant of money, scant of leisure; 
visits between New York and College Point were 
rare occasions, too infrequent for the needs of 
comradeship; and so there was a correspondence. 
That part of it which was addressed to College 
Point has come into my possession by way of the 
old black-leather valise. Sorted out, piled by it- 
_ self, it forms a thick stack—the only thing in the 
valise (except another batch of letters written 
four-score years later) that gives evidence of having 
been systematically preserved. That fact by itself 
gives insight into the Houghton character. The 
friendly letter that has given up its news, can serve 
but one purpose: it gives some slight hold on what 
Time is inexorably stealing from us—a taper, let us 
say, with which we may strive to bring about us 
“the light of other days.”’ 

Even to the alien eye, there comes from these 
now eighty-year-old letters a radiance of fine friend- 
ship. And we get glimpse, across the gap of years, 
of Moore and Taft and the crony to whom they 
wrote at College Point. 

The divinity student was at the storm-and-stress 
period. Literary ambition warred with theological 
studies; impulse, with principle; the flesh, with the 
spirit; the actual, with the ideal. 

He contributed articles to the periodicals. Some 


26 The Little Church Around the Corner 


were published. In the letters from his friends, 
items like these recurr again and again: 


I have seen the Democratic Review. Nothing 
of interest to you init. G.H.M. says it is printed 
two weeks before the first of the month when it 
is delivered. The Knickerbocker has not yet 
appeared in these parts. When it comes, should 
it contain your article, I will send you informa- 
tion thereof immediately. So be on the qui 
vive. 


He wrote poems. I do not know if any of these 
found their way into print. But he had a book, a 
““Nugee,”” into which they were copied. Himself 
writing an execrable hand, he got his friend Taft, 
the copyist, to do the work. Could friendship give 
better proof of itself! ‘By setting apart this after- 
noon and evening for the purpose I have succeeded 
in getting the poems in hand copied into your 
‘Nuge’.”’ At another time Taft wrote: “Be forth- 
coming on Saturday but don’t bring your ‘Nuge’. 
(The willing and obedient shall eat the fat of the 
land.)”’ 

There were frequent requests from College Point 
that books—sometimes purchased, more often 
borrowed—be forwarded. If the titles mentioned 
in the letters are indicative, his reading was largely 
the literature of ancient Greece and Rome. So 
too with his muse: much of his versifying was 


Wrestling with Old Adam Q7 


translating the Attic poets, also the Latin hymns 
of the old Monks. 

It was his strength, not his theological studies, 
that paid the price for his literary pursuits. His 
friends were constantly admonishing him to give 
more time to sleep and to exercise. 


I am pleased to hear that you have been re- 
lieved of a portion of your classes and would 
suggest that instead of devoting your leisure 
hours to digging at Greek or Hebrew roots or to 
the more pleasing task of versification, you 
appropriate the one or two hours to exercise. 
Your health will be the better and your mind 
I am sure none the worse. You must take better 
care of your body than you have heretofore. 
You have not a strong constitution naturally, 
and hence must not think that you can play 
John Wesley by sleeping only 4 hours or Jno. 
Graham by eating brown bread and drinking 
cold water. And remember in your ardor for 
literary distinction that the sound mind must 
abide in a sound body. 


No; despite literary study, literary effort, there 
was no neglect of theology. A deep student of 
church history, he had become a militant believer 
in the tenets of the High Church movement. Re- 
ligion was often discussed in the letters that 


28 The Little Church Around the Corner 


passed between him and Moore. In one letter, 
the latter wrote: 


I suppose I must explain the unsatisfactory 
changes I have noted in you. I must think you 
inconsistent, or attribute to you some of the 
worst features of High Churchism. I mean to 
say that, as yet, I see these as tendencies more 
than as real traits of character. 

Your furious assault on our Puritan ancestry, 
and your unqualified admiration of that canoni- 
sation of Laud, by Newman, quite alarmed me. 
Next thing, I shall be tolerated—if I am not 
careful. 

However, I am only saying my say of these 
things. I speak not against Episcopacy—on the 
contrary, I am getting more attached to some of 
its prominent features as a system of govern- 
ment for the church, but I really see no necessity 
in the case, of a man’s being a bigot, intolerant, 
or having any of the Laud features about him, 
because he is a churchman. 


In another letter: 


By the way, are you writing those “Letters To 
An Inquiring Friend” yet? I am ready to 
receive them and to be made an Episcopalian— 
Conscience Consenting. 


What a baffling tangle of clashing-colored 
threads is a man’s character! The College Point 


Crestling with Old Adam 29 


divinity student who could follow the regimen of 
a Wesley or a Graham, who dug enthusiastically 
at Greek and Hebrew roots, who debated church 
tenets with the warmth that a man debates 
only questions he believes are “live issues” — 
this divinity student always had a Queen of 
Hearts. 

Sensitive, sympathetic, ardent—the very char- 
acteristics that, in later years, when turned toward 
humanity, made him so notable a doctor of souls, 
now, in his salad days, made him a tinder box of 
emotions. 

Among the letters and other mementoes of these 
College Point days, there is a pencil-draft ‘of a 
poem. Interlined, revised, rubbed, much of it is 
undecipherable. 


To—— 


Tue Love-RESOUNDING LYRE 


. . . (undecipherable) . . . 
. . . (undecipherable) . . 


But whatever I essay, 

Love respondeth back alway. 
. . . (undecipherable) . . . 
. . . (undecipherable) . . . 
Hercules I sought to praise, 
Love respondeth back always. 


30 The Little Church Around the Corner 


. . (undecipherable) farewell! 
Love henceforth my lyre shall tell. 
Wily Cupid we will crown; 

Venus alone my song possesses. 


Also, among the same mementoes, there is a 
dainty little envelope, a style used by girls in the 
early Victorian Age. Within the envelope, a piece 
of carefully folded tissue paper. Within the tissue 
paper, a ringlet of lustrous brown hair, tied with a 
bit of narrow pink ribbon. I like to think of that 
ringlet—memorial of a youthful romance—lying 
in the desk of an ageing rector. Perhaps the rector 
had long since forgotten it. But I like to think of 
it as occasionally waking old memories—a talisman 
that kept alive the individual realization of mor- 
tal frailty. | 

There was always some fairest Eve to whom he 
wrote, upon whom he called when he visited New 
York. To his friend, Moore, he explained that 
these letters, these calls, acted as a “‘steam safety 
valve.” 

Moore wrote him: 


You seem to think I need an explanation of 
all your yvvaixas demonstrations. I should, 
perhaps, if we were not “weel acquent’’—as it is; 
so be it. I must confess my astonishment at 
your referring me to an M.D. (in futuro) for any 
authority on such matters. Whatever Taft or 
any other sawbones may say, I shall rely on my 


Wrestling with Old Adam 31 


classical friends, who are authority for anything 
and everything respecting the “tender passion.” 


Here follow a half dozen Latin quotations. 
Moore then continues: 


When I see you leaping a stile, or a broom- 
stick, I may think I observe “‘quantillum 
Houghtonii antiqui’—for the “ass-ceticism,” 
I need no “incentive additional” to associate a 
“hoof” with it! However—Heaven keep us in 
all good works! 


The divinity student had announced his inten- 
tion of finding a solution for the problem of temp- 
tation, by ceasing his visits to New York, remain- 
ing at College Point, drawing intohisshell. Thiswas 
followed by another announcement: his intention 
to become a celibate and take up missionary work. 

His friend, Moore, gives so good a picture, not 
only of this period of ferment, of the transition 
from immaturity to maturity, but also of the 
unchanging characteristics of the man himself, 
that I quote at some length from four letters that 
cover near a year’s development. , 


LETTER 1. 


I received yours of the 2” last evening, quite 
late. I have this morning sent down the en- 
closure to Miss 





32 The Little Church Around the Corner 


I was much amused at the latter portion of 
your epistle. You need not fear that your friends 
here will not be lenient enough for any and all 
your faults. If you don’t come down—why 
they must go up—though you have chosen 
rather a cool season to commence your career as 
a hermit, or monk, or any good Jesuitical per- 
sonage, who eschews worldly intercourse and 
retires to his hermitage, or cell, or (more gen- 
erally) to the bosom of his sodality, to cultivate 
his mind at the expense of his heart and sacrifice 
his affections to his intellect. However, I know 
you too well and (spite of your valorous self- 
denial) esteem you too highly to think for a 
moment that you will commit yourself to any 
such folly. You see I give you little credit for 
that same self-denial—but never mind. 

To return, when you need any championship 
in a certain quarter, I promise my poor service. 


LETTER 2. 


Re-read my letter to see if I put you in that 
class of priests whose sacrifices are not pleasing 
to anybody. I think I did not. So keep easy. 

If I did not expressly read you out of 
that category then— 

Hear ye! 

“Be it known to all men—and one woman 
(not to be mentioned now)—that I, G.H.M., do 
not think, believe, or for a moment suppose that 


Wrestling with Old Adam 33 


G.H.H. will ever become really and entirely a 
hermit, monk, or any other sort of heathen man, 
totally eschewing society, particularly of females. 
Nor do I, the said G.H.M., think that people 
generally, in talking on these subjects, mean 
one-half they say, especially when they exalt 
single blessedness or any other singularity as 
fulfilling ‘the law.’”’ 


LETTER 3. 


I have no hesitation in saying No! to the 
Nashotah question. In the first place you are 
not fitted by nature for such a situation. Your 
whole nature is bound up in sympathy. With- 
out an understanding and appreciating sym- 
pathy, no man, woman or child can reach you. 
Society is valueless without it, and_ solitude 
would be insupportable. . . . 

Nor are you better fitted for the Nashotah 
station by education. In this you have followed 
nature, and obeyed impulse, gratifying yourself 
in whatever acquirements you have made—not 
without reference to higher ultimate ends, but 
at the same time looking for a high and com- 
manding influence to be wielded for those ends. 
Physical training, you know as well as I do, you 
are entirely deficient in. Your constitution 
would never suffice for the labors of a missionary. 

Leave all these dreams of self-immolation, 
abjuring the world, or regenerating it by any 


34 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Jesuitism. The Battle For Truth is to be fought 
in open day, in a straightforward, manly way. 
The errors of life are to be overcome by meeting 
them—as are all evils of this nature. Do you 
think you will be able to do more for the cause 
in which you have embarked by eschewing 
society? If you think so, do so. But let your 
thought be the expression of principle, not feel- 
ing, nor worse, sentiment. You have one work 
to do, first of all: to endeavor to restore your 
health and strength, before you can dream of 
any great enterprise, in any sphere. 


LETTER 4. 


I am right glad to see you are sensible of that 
enormous deficiency at your monastic quarters— 
the want of a heart. The most practical expres- 
sion of a heart is always in the shape of a woman. 
Your paragraph on this topic is the best I have 
ever heard from you on any similar subject. 
Macte virtute. 

After all, George, a man needs a very near 
and very dear friend to fill the place closest to 
his heart, one to whom he may look for constant 
sympathy, and whose interests are all so inter- 
woven with his, that they stand or fall together. 


The theological studies came to an end in the 
early summer of 1845. In the fall Houghton was 
ordained Deacon in the Church of the Holy Com- 


Wrestling with Old Adam 35 


munion, Sixth Avenue and Twentieth Street, New 
York, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Horatio Potter, Bishop of 
New York, officiating. Dr. Muhlenberg was the 
rector of this church, and his erstwhile divinity 
student now became his curate. Friend Moore 
wrote, congratulating Houghton on his “success 
and prosperity.’ The following year he was ad- 
vanced to the Priesthood, continuing for another 
twelve-month as Dr. Muhlenberg’s curate. 

The winter of 1847 found him without parish 
moorings, a priest looking for priestly work. 


BARE HANDS AND A BACKBONE 


A MAN looking for work learns a lot of things. 
It is a rough school, but a good one for the man 
made of the right stuff. It is particularly useful as 
a post-graduate course: it teaches the collegian to 
trim his tail-feathers—instead of dreaming of 
empyrean flight, he compromises on a journey 
nearer the old, prosaic, work-a-day earth. 

The vagrant pages of a diary, to which I have 
already referred, relate to this period in the young 
priest’s life. There are only fifteen of them, time- 
stained, loose, without chronological sequence. 
The entries are largely of his employment upon the 
various Sabbaths: of services in which he assisted, 
of pulpits that he filled in the absence of the regular 
occupant, the texts from which he preached his 
sermons. All these things I skip: seed long since 
sown, the reapers long since gone to their harvest- 
home. 

But there are some entries that have current 
value. They help us summon that young priest 
out of the dead past, give us a viable presentment 
of him—a right but very human sort of person, 
accepting bitter lessons but not with too much 

36 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 37 


meekness, his ego being deflated but pride of 
intellect a-smoulder. 


Apri 16”, Toe Last SuNDAY IN LENT 


Preached for Mr. Howland in the morning. 
I was much dissatisfied with my sermon and its 
delivery. I shall preach no more—# dvvijra1r— 
until I have something to preach. Mr. Howland 
is rector of the Church of the Holy Apostles. 
Not long since, a Rev. Mr. Gordon told me how 
Mr. Howland became rector. Mr. Preston, Mr. 
Howland, and myself, being before the vestry, 
a letter was written by a friend of Mr. Howland, 
promising $2,000 on condition of Mr. Howland 
being elected. Horace, had he been living, 
might have added to his ode, that Gold, the God 
of this World, is potent also to open vestry room 
and pulpit door. 


‘fore enim tutum iter et patens 
Converso in pretium Deo, 
Annum per medias ire Satellites 
Et perrumpere amat saxa, potentius 
Ictu fulmines.”’ 


Lib. 3, C. XVI. 


I was to preach for the blacks (Messiah) in the 
afternoon. Dr. Haight for some reason, un- 
known to me, had sent Mr. Morris. ‘‘And be 
ye courteous”’ is an apostolic precept not always 


38 The Little Church Around the Corner 


regarded by apostolic men. I went to St. 
Thomas. I do not admire Dr. Whitehouse as a 
preacher or priest. Such sermons do no good. 
He circumnavigated the whole sea of the gospel. 
Yesterday Mr. Vance was confirmed. Bishop 
Potter is, I judge, a man of great integrity, one 
who never speaks of countries he has not visited. 
There are too many religious travels by persons 
of imagination. I went with the Bishop to Dr. 
Muhlenberg’s Vestry Room. I was asked to 
remain. There being, however, a lack of seats 
the late assistant gave place to Mrs. Diller and 
Howland—“‘and be ye courteous.” 


Apri 17” 

. . . Coming out of church I met Mrs. S.. 
‘‘Robert’s tutor”’ had to listen to words he could 
not bear except on the broad shoulders of it 
must needs be. Poverty makes one very port- 


able. 


APRIL 18” 

. . I find Dr. 8., with all his professions, 
unreliable. Inadequacy of voice, it seems, pre- 
vented my success with regard to Trinity. I 
learned, however, that my endeavor had been 
preceded by an endeavor of Mr. Mahan. But 
he and his “troop of friends,’ Mr. Parks, Pro- 
fessor Mahan, et al, had met with like ill-success. 
It is wrong, I suppose, yet I am not sorry. I 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 39 


have no friends. Why then not trust in the 
Lord. For it is better than to put any con- 
fidence in Princes—even. 


APRIL 22” 


Read prayers as usual for Dr. Muhlenberg, he 
being sick. I walked home with him. He 
neither thanked me for my services, nor asked 
them for Easter. ‘And be ye courteous.” 


ApRIL 23”, EASTER SUNDAY 


Went to the Holy Communion at 6 a.m. 
The usual “fancy service.’” A number of devout 
women were present. All was very fine. Dr. 
Muhlenberg with seeming surprise heard of my 
black engagement: thought I was to be with 
Howland, or he had asked me to be with him. 
Credat Indaens. Preached and administered 
the Communion to the blacks. At the Holy 
Communion p.m. A multitude of Medes, Par- 
thians, and dwellers in the V Avenue were con- 
eregated. 


Too large a diet of “humble pie”? produces an 
acute indigestion that distorts the vision. Hence 
the scorn for the “fancy service’? (in which he 
believed), for the “‘multitude of Medes, Parthians, 
and dwellers in the V Avenue,” for all who did not 
have to eat the portion of poverty. 

In those days it was a bare-handed charity that 


40 The Little Church Around the Corner 


the city doled out at Bellevue Hospital. The nurses 
were prisoners from Blackwell’s Island. There 
were no appointed chaplains: if the sick and dying 
received spiritual comfort, it was from some volun- 
teer. 

Another kind of entry now begins to appear in 
these pages of the diary. 


Took tea at De Peyster’s. At the orphan 
asylum. Baptized Henry Eaton and David K. 


Very snowy evening. At Bellevue Hospital. 
Administered communion to James Smith. 


This kind of entry increasesinnumber. Through 
them, as through a peep-hole, we get sight of the 
young priest, in fair weather and in foul, bearing 
his ministrations to the orphaned, to the stricken in 
health and purse. 

In the gaunt wards of hospital and asylum, he 
saw things that roused that deeply sympathetic 
nature, roused it so that he turned his back on 
ambition, on personal advantage, set himself an 
humble, obscure task. Among the poor of the great 
city, there was work to be done, a call for toilers. 
The man who had dreamed of “literary distinc- 
tion,’’ who had dreamed of achieving “‘a high and 
commanding influence,’ now had a new dream— 
a parish among the poor. 

It was the task at hand, the day’s work: the years 
revealed it, his “‘acres of diamonds””! 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 41 


He found two families (together they would total 
six communicants) who had sufficient faith in his 
dream to promise their allegiance. The Rev. Mr. 
Lawson Carter promised the Sabbath use, rent 
free, of a rear room in his home, 48 East Twenty- 
fourth Street, for three months. A few school 
benches were borrowed; an old, “‘asthmatic parlor 
organ’’; a reading-desk made of pine wood; and 
the dream had public utterance. 

It was on the afternoon of the first Sunday in 
October, 1848—a dull, dead, autumnal day, a 
steady fall of rain beating the leaves from the 
trees, the earth preparing for its long winter 
sleep. 


A devout stranger . . . happened, we will 
suppose, to be passing in the rain through East 
Twenty-fourth Street, between Lexington and 
Fourth Avenues. Being a Churchman, his atten- 
tion was attracted by his seeing a number of 
persons, not many, prayer book in hand, enter- 
ing through a door in a fence into a vacant lot 
and making their way into a room in the rear 
part of a house. The rather unusual sight so 
interested him that he followed them, and 
presently found himself one of perhaps forty or 
fifty persons who were there gathered for divine 
service. . . . When the prescribed order of 
the Prayer Book had been observed, and the 
Selection, 


42 The Little Church Around the Corner 


‘*We build with fruitless cost, unless 
The Lord the pile sustain,”’ 


had been sung, the minister—who had conducted 
the service, and who was a young man evidently 
of very great inexperience, with an appearance, 
observable by every one, of little physical 
strength and power of protracted endurance— 
proceeded to unfold his future plans and pur- 
poses: the securing of a sufficient plot of ground, 
the building of a suitable Church Edifice, the 
formation of one and another eleemosynary 
societies, the personal ministration to the sick 
and the poor and the afflicted, the knowing of 
no difference of sorts and conditions of men in 
the gathering of the future congregation, the 
carrying out to the very fullest extent the 
ritual and order of the Church in services and 
observances. The young man went on in 
all simplicity and frankness to state that 
for the accomplishment of his plans and pur- 
poses he had neither a dollar nor the promise 
of one, nothing but his Bible and Prayer 
Book, the Surplice which he wore, the pine 
Lectern at which he stood and the three 
months’ promised free use of the room where 
he was. 


The following Sunday, service was held in the 
morning. Other churches made their claims, 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 43 


subtracted from the pioneer band: the congrega- 
tion had shrunk to fifteen. 

At the southeast corner of Fourth Avenue and 
Twenty-fourth Street, on one of the many vacant 
lots in the neighborhood, a post was erected bearing 
a simple sign: 


Protestant Episcopal Free Church 


48 East 24” Street 





The entries in the diary during the winter months 
reflect a dismal prospect for parish incubation. 
But, in one of the most dismal months, “‘the male 
persons of full age, belonging to the Congregation 
worshipping at 48 East Twenty-fourth Street”’ 
met for the purpose of making the parish a legal 
entity. On February 12, 1849, the parish was 
organized under the corporate name “The Church 
of the Transfiguration in the City of New York.” 


May the name ever prove an appropriate one! 
For, while in fewness of number, we resemble 
those who witnessed the event commemorated— 
they being no more than three—may we also be 
like them in other respects—even in that of the 
company with which they found themselves, 
that of Christ and the beatified; and of the glory 


44 The Little Church Around the Corner 


which they were permitted to behold. Here 
may many a soul be transfigured so as no fuller, 
no power but a Divine power, can whiten it. 
Here may many a sinner be transformed into a 
saint, and many a poor and sorrowful soul be 
made rich and joyful. But for the accomplish- 
ment of all that is proposed, 1t may well be asked 
in the language of the text: ‘“‘And now, Lord, 
what is my hope?”’ It is not in soliciting from 
the rich their money—though we have none. It 
is not in entreating from landholders ground— 
though a church cannot be built without it, and 
we have not so much as for the sole of our foot. 
For in so doing, no doubt, we should be unsuc- 
cessful. Our hope is elsewhere. “Truly my 
hope is even in Thee!”’ 


The Rev. Mr. Carter continued the privilege of 
the free use of the rear room in his home. Music, 
fuel, sexton, “everything needed was in some way 
provided without expense of any sort.” Fifteen 
hundred dollars was raised for the purchase of a 
site and the building of a church. 

It would seem that the young priest was doing 
fairly well, that it was something of an achieve- 
ment, this putting the vitality of growth into a 
parish that as yet was only a corporate name. 
But the young priest himself was disappointed: 
he had learned that his dream could not become a 
reality, that, to materialize, it must shrink until 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 45 


it bore small semblance to its original self. ‘It 
had become apparent that, under existing circum- 
stances, without endowment, or many influential 
friends, it would be in vain to attempt directly the 
accomplishment of the original plan of a Free 
Church and charitable institution. The plan was, 
therefore, modified so as to embrace at first no more 
than a Church with pews reasonably rated, and 
where as large provision as possible could be made, 
without charge, for our less favored brethren.” 
During all these months, Bellevue Hospital 
‘“‘“was counted as a peculiar charge. . . . Indeed, 
its every ward, almost, became nearly as familiar 
as the room in which our services were held.” A 
community of the poor had grown up in the Belle- 
vue neighborhood. It was as yet without chapels. 
This neighborhood “was made the field of continual 
day and night missionary labor.’”” There was not 
‘“‘a street from the Hospital down to Twentieth, 
unassociated with the memory of a sorrow as- 
suaged, a want supplied, or a deathbed soothed.” 
It was there, “‘where those to whom it was the 
purpose especially to minister were mostly to be 
found,” that the rector wanted the site purchased, 
the Church of the Transfiguration builded. In 
this, he was over-ruled. A strong-willed man, the 
probability is that it was the recognition of cash- 
necessity, not the over-riding vote of his vestry, 
that turned the scale. All that we have on this 
particular point is his own statement: “It was at 


46 The Little Church Around the Corner 


first with extreme reluctance, on the part of the 
Rector, that the present location was chosen”’— 
the north side of Twenty-ninth Street, just east 
of Fifth Avenue. 

The neighborhood was in the transition stage 
(as yet, more rural than urban), but had promise 
of good development. The wealthy had some 
years since migrated from the lower part of the 
city, and settled in the section between Washing- 
ton Square and Union Square. A contemporary 
chronicler tells us that the section “became speed- 
ily occupied by elegant residences.” Within that 
zone, Broadway and Fifth Avenue vied with each 
other as the avenue of the “elite.” It must have 
been believed that the wealthy had come to anchor, 
for that fashionable place of worship, Grace 
Church, Broadway and Tenth Street, was built 
about 1846. 

May 12, 1849, the Site Committee reported that 
it had contracted for the purchase of three lots, 
Nos. 5, 7 and 9 East Twenty-ninth Street, for 
$2,800, and that $280, ten per cent of the purchase 
money, had been paid. 

November 27, 1849, the Building Committee 
reported that it had contracted for the erection of 
“our new church on Twenty-ninth Street, for the 
sum of $1,900, not including the pews.” 

December 28, 1849, a contract was made for the 
use of an organ, the rent to be $4 a month, the 
Vestry to pay the insurance. 


YHOU J9YyJANJ SHIO[G XIS YOINYD op} SITY INQ woyYsnoH “Iq UOT 
OGST Ul}99NS pairyj}-AjUOMyT pue Aempeolg fonueAY Yijlq JO WOTIeSIO}UT OY, 








Bare Hands and a Backbone AT 


At last the day came for the happy migration. 
After an occupancy of seventeen months, the 
Church of the Transfiguration left that rear room 
on Twenty-fourth Street, left the borrowed school 
benches, the pine-wood reading desk, the asth- 
matic parlor organ, moved its ark to the new tab- 
ernacle on Twenty-ninth Street. 

The date, March 10, 1850. 

The communicants now numbered forty. 

Theirs was an unpretentious temple: in the midst 
of vacant lots, a one-story building, measuring 
about seventy by thirty-tive feet, standing some 
distance back from the street, intended merely as 
the rear part of a church that it was dreamed 
might some day become a reality. 


The day was one of as great cheerfulness 
without as within. Nature seemed to rejoice 
with us in keeping the festival. The church, at 
each service, was fully occupied with those whose 
sympathy and congratulations can never be 
forgotten. 


Novelty is a strong lodestone: it draws people 
into theatres, it draws them into churches. What 
had happened in Twenty-fourth Street, also came 
to pass in Twenty-ninth Street: after the first 
Sunday the attendance shrank—the novelty- 
hunters had gone elsewhere. 

And now began the patient, long-haul job—that 


48 The Little Church Around the Corner 


slow, honest building up that means substantial 
and lasting growth. In his first sermon in the new 
church, the young priest told how the job could be 
done: 


The command is to a daily cross-bearing; and 
the promise is, “‘he that endureth to the end shall 
be saved.” It is only by unintermitting and un- 
remitting efforts that we can perfect what we 
purpose with regard to ourselves or with regard 
to our church. Quiet, undiscouraged laborious- 
ness! ‘‘Fides opera,” “‘faith and works,” is the 
motto of our parish: they laid the foundation of 
our commencement, they will rear and cement 
the coping stone of our completion. 


What compensation, if any, the Rector received 
in those early days of parish struggle, I do not 
know. The first mention of salary that I have 
found in such church records as have been 
preserved, is under date of February 1, 1855: 
‘*Resolved that the salary of our Rector be fixed at 
$2,500 per annum, to commence the first day of 
February instant.” 

One need only know the devotion of the man to 
his task to realize the probability of his having 
given his services without financial compensation 
for over six years. 

During that period he made a little money by 
his pen. We find him writing to his friend Moore: 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 49 


My DEAR GEORGE 
To shield myself against the predatoriness of 
the numerous pirates that are coasting in every 
sea, I shall rely upon your offices at the office of 
the Lnterary World. A nice little notice about a 
forthcoming book on “the children of the Bible”’ 
could easily thence be copied into the Church- 
man et aliis. Will you see Appleton? My dear 
Moore—don’t play me a Carthagenian trick— 
puni ea fideo you know. 
Verily 
Yours truly, 
Ge Ea Ee 


He also tried to capitalize his classical 
knowledge. 


My pEAR GEORGE 

As it is not worth the while to cheapen oneself 
—that being neither the way of the world, nor 
appreciable by it—I would prefer that in any of 
your energetics you should say that this in- 
dividual is patent for an offer in connection 
with the University. Brag was never a verna- 
cular, or even a dialect with him; but he 
is audacious enough to affirm his own confi- 
dence of competence for any Alma Mater need 
in the Grecian linea. Am I_ perspicuous? 
Do you participate the idea? Then “Perge 


50 The Little Church Around the Corner 


modo”’—Don’t be over-greedy—nor without 
appetite. 
Yours urgently, i.e. delicately, i.e. moonishly. 
Vale 
Givhh He 


His Alma Mater was cold to the embassy of 
Friend Moore. No ducats from that quarter. 

The need for economy must have been urgent, 
for when the church building on Twenty-ninth 
Street was finished, the Rector used a room in it as 
study and lodging place. It would be interesting 
to know where he ate. 

In a jocular letter to Moore, he called himself 
“the Hermite.”’ 

Meanwhile, there loomed another possibility of 
gathering a few ducats on the side. On September 
24, 1850, the General Theological Seminary decided 
to add the study of Hebrew to its curriculum “pro- 
vided the same do not occasion an expense of more 
than $500 per annum.” Immediately, Houghton 
was after the job. 


My pEAR GEORGE 

I meant to have written you yesterday, but 
I was horizontal. I want to instigate you to 
operate for me. 

I wish to prejudice McVickar, Prof., in my 
favor, as it respects the Seminary. I fancied 
that you might pull a pretty taut and vigorous 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 51 


string through Henry, Rev. Dr. What I want is 
as follows: To be appointed instructor in He- 
brew in the Seminary; that gotten, I am pretty 
sure the Professorship would follow. I feel that 
I touch bottom on this subject, therefore I shall 
not beslime myself with ignorance and blunders 
—ergo, you can speak decidedly. Now Henry 
is a candidate for the Chair of Systematic 
Divinity. He knows a little of my labor liniae 
in the Hebrew from having been shown some of 
my Mss. He can serve me. It might be for 
his interest (inter nos). 

vov mais éuov—l am as much enamored 
with this post as you are with your prospective 
softer resting place, the twining arms of the fair 
Mrs. M.—that is to be. As I would further 
you in compassing your ends heartily, manibus 
pedibusque, will you reciprocate—delicately yet 
emphatically? If so, I will ever thank you. 

Faithfully, 
Go Bh Ey 


Houghton landed the job: the $500 per annum 
was his. A year later he vacated the room in the 
church that for eighteen months had been his home. 
He could now afford more convenient and com- 
fortable quarters. 

Faith and works! 

There was a heavy load of debt, but the church 
was growing: within the first year a score of com- 


52 The Little Church Around the Corner 


municants had been added to the congregation, 
two adjoining lots to the west secured, a school 
house built, a parish school for boys opened, 
twenty-two boys in the school. Within the next 
year, additional pews were required. The con- 
gregation outgrew these. By June, 1852—two 
years and four months after the migration from 
Twenty-fourth Street—the congregation needed a 
bigger temple. 

No high-flying architectural plans; just the good 
old homely fashion of making things over, putting a 
patch where needed. The schoolroom, which 
abutted the church to the west, was now opened 
into the main edifice and supplied with pews. The 
needed patch was for the accommodation of the 
school. It was put on in the form of a low, dor- 
mer-windowed story built above the former school 
room. (The original church building forms the 
nave of the present church; the schoolroom is the 
present chantry; the latter was known in the old 
days as “the chapel.’’) 

1854: transept built. 

1859: further addition to building. 

1861: transept extended, and library (now the 
sacristy) built. 

1862: organ chamber built at junction of nave 
and transept. 

1864: extensive alterations, and re-pewing of 
entire church. 

Though prosperity had come in these latter 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 53 


years, the church had continued the old homely 
fashion—taking down a partition, putting on an 
addition here or there, to meet the needs of a 
growing family. No “‘built-to-order’’ structure, 
but one whose every irregularity tells a chapter 
of family history. Therefore, its personality, its 
uniqueness, also its nickname in the ’60s, “The 
Church of the Holy Cucumber Vine.” 

(Diagram from contemporary issue of the N. Y. 


Sun.) 
Srcveess's Saeseceges POT PSST OSes OsESEHFOHGse ee ersaeeeaeese® 
: : H ; ‘ a ets 
3 A Sei one 
le eo 
IS SA See sce gate 
is : P'SESIG-FGIC Se eieiaie'e Se8: 8:9 
Side : 0; 
Waceereog ity annus et koe ° s 
soee's ee 
78: 
Gq: 
A. Rectory. | E. Chancel eng, 
B- Chapel bee! pocregk F, New wing. 
} G. Baptistery 
Cc. Tow H. Fou 
0. Body sy uel O, Org 


The right sort of a home is furnished, not at one 
swoop, by hired interior decorator, but little by 
little, through the accumulations of the years. 
Each thing means something, stands for senti- 
mental occasion, expansion of the family purse, 
increase in the family circle. A home furnished 
suchwise is fragrant with memories; is in truth 
*““my ain fireside.” 


54 The Little Church Around the Corner 


That was the way the Church of the Trans- 
figuration got its furnishings—its altar, pulpit, 
lectern, font, sacred vessels, stained glass windows: 
at first, few and simple, as befitted a struggling 
church family; later, when prosperity came, many 
and beautiful. The old bellows organ, after 
twelve years’ service, gave way to pipe organ 
which, years later, was displaced by as fine an organ 
as money could buy. The first stained glass 
window, in the church—memorial to a daughter— 
was presented in 1862. The black walnut pulpit 
of the early days was supplanted by a pulpit of 
Carrara marble and wrought brass; but above the 
new, fitting into the corner formed by the main 
wall of the church and the dividing arch of the 
chancel, there is a carved black walnut figure of 
the Good Shepherd, keepsake of the old pulpit. 
Scarce a thing that does not speak, either as gift or 
memorial, of some one, once a familiar figure in 
those aisles, now sleeping his last, long sleep. 

With the completion of the alterations made in 
1864, the building was given what practically 
are the outlines of today. The modest temple of 
1850 had grown, addition by addition, to a church 
with a seating capacity of over one thousand. In 
the space of fourteen years the size of the edifice 
had been quadrupled. The alteration of 1864 cost 
$13,500, seven times the cost of the original 
building. 

In the anniversary sermon of that year, amid 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 55 


the thanks sent heavenward, there crept in a 
venial note of pride in “this growth out of nothing- 
ness and namelessness, this improbable prosperity, 
this contrast of today with the day of our 
beginning.” 

How had this feat in church-building, in parish- 
building, been accomplished? 

Dr. Houghton’s answer: “Faith and works.” 

I think the formula should be changed: one ele- 
ment, simple as it is rare—FartHruL Work! 


Did I ever tell you of my experience with a 
very wise lunatic, once upon a time, in the 
Bloomingdale Asylum? 

I was going through the Asylum with one of the 
governors, that good man, Mr. James DePeyster, 
now of Paradise—God rest him! In one of the 
outbuildings we came upon a lunatic with a pail 
of water and a brush and soap, down upon his 
knees, scrubbing away at the floor of his room 
as if for dear life, as they say. Mr. DePeyster 
said to me, “Look at him! look at him! see 
how he works—see how clean and sweet with his 
brush and soap and water he is making his room! 
What an example for all the others!” Our 
lunatic, with brush in hand, looked up at us and 
said: “‘“Mr. DePeyster, what is professional 
religion worth without practical piety? Sup- 
pose you come in, and down on your knees, and 
take the brush and lend a hand and show us 


56 The Little Church Around the Corner 


what you can do, and not stand there talking 
about how clean and sweet soap and water and a 
brush will makearoom.” And then, giving us no 
more heed, he fell with all vigor to his work again. 


In his desire to make the world cleaner and 
sweeter, Dr. Houghton was always ready to “down 
on his knees and take the brush and lend a hand.” 
Do Sin, Death, Grief, Affliction go on vacation in 
the summer months, or quit in the evening at the 
blowing of the factory whistles? Dr. Houghton 
kept his church open throughout the twelve 
months of the year, kept it open daily from Matins 
to Evensong, had a night-bell and speaking tube 
at the door of the rectory adjoining the church. 


A somewhat practical sense on the part of 
the ministers of this church, year in and year 
out, of what was meant by faithfulness and per- 
sistence in duty, has, we may be sure, under 
God, had its somewhat telling effect. It seemed 
to be generally known that one could always be 
found at the Transfiguration to answer the call 
to the sick and the dying, and that here in 
Twenty-ninth Street it was practically thought 
that if our Banks and Markets and Shops were 
not closed in summer neither should our churches 
be, and that if the Physician of the body had his 
night-bell and speaking tube, that himself, as 
well as his patients, might be the better for 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 57 


them, even so the Physician of souls should have 
the same, that none of his flock for want of him 
might ever, at any hour, be comfortless. (From 
Anniversary Sermon, 1887.) 


Dr. Houghton took his first vacation in 1860— 
twelve years faithfully and persistently on the job. 


(From THE VESTRY REcoRDS) 


June 12, 1860. Whereas, our beloved and 
respected Rector has faithfully and constantly 
remained in the city during the summer months, 
therefore, Resolved, That we hereby tender to 
the Rector a vacation of two months (July and 
August) and authorize him to engage the serv- 
ices of a minister to continue the services of the 
church during his absence, at an expense of 
$250. to be defrayed by the Treasurer out of 
the funds of the church. 

Sept. 11, 1860. The Rector tendered to the 
Vestry his hearty thanks for the resolutions 
adopted at the last meeting, and stated that 
through the kindness of clerical friends he had 
been enabled to secure for himself the vacation 
at an expense to the church of $50. this sum 
having been paid for services rendered during the 
month of August. 


He remained instructor of Hebrew in the General 
Theological Seminary (salary, $500. per annum) 


58 The Little Church Around the Corner 


for more than twelve years, resigning the office 
June 5, 1863. The Church of the Transfiguration 
was now “a going concern,” the time past when 
its rector had to “carry a side line”’ to pay his way. 


We are wise never to neglect the gaining of 
any useful knowledge that we are able to acquire. 
St. Paul learned tent-making and by tent- 
making he was wont at times to provide for the 
wants of himself and of those who were with 
him. And to speak of a very small matter in 
connection with a very large one—years, years 
ago I gave myself somewhat diligently to the 
studying, after the day’s work was done—the 
two o'clock in the morning studying—of He- 
brew; and by the teaching of the same I largely 
supported myself while the early Transfiguration 
Congregation was in gathering and Transfigur- 
ation Church was in the beginning of its building; 
and so did not eat the seed corn needed for plant- 
ing, did not take as salary for my maintenance 
the money required for foundation laying. 


In any appraisal of the growth and prosperity of 
Dr. Houghton’s church, the development of Fifth 
Avenue and its adjacent side-streets, must not be 
ignored. The Civil War grew its crop of profiteers, 
its new rich who must live cheek-by-jowl with the 
old, or older, rich. Pressure on the Washington 
Square neighborhood became too great—the resi- 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 59 


dential section of Manhattan’s wealth and fashion 
stretched rapidly northward. The ’*60s saw the 
old neighborhood of vacant lots buried under solid 
rows of “elegant brownstone fronts.” Fifth Ave- 
nue definitely established itself in the premiership 
that it was to hold for so many years, became 
“The Avenue,” habitat of ‘“‘the elite.” 

If noses only were counted, Dr. Houghton’s 
church became, in the ’60s, after the early years 
of poverty and struggle, a rich man’s church, its 
congregation largely made up of the fashionable, 
the socially exclusive. Upon its membership list, 
the names of many of New York’s oldest families, 
names that are synonyms for American aristocracy: 
Livingston, DePeyster, Schuyler, Sutton, Town- 
send, Embury, Quintard, Guion, Drexel. 

A rich man’s church only if noses were counted, 
the animating spirit of the church ignored! 

Rich men were in the pews and listened to that 
‘parochial retrospect” of 1864. Going back to 
those days when Transfiguration dwelt temporarily 
in the back room of Mr. Carter’s residence on 
Twenty-fourth Street and was casting about for a 
site upon which to erect its tabernacle: 


The location of the church and its charity 
was not designed to have been where the lines 
have since so pleasantly fallen to us, but on one 
side of the town, where those to whom it was the 
purpose especially to minister were mostly to be 


60 The Little Church Around the Corner 


found. . . . It was at first with extreme 
reluctance, on the part of the Rector, that the 
present location was chosen—although at that 
time the marvellous change which the neighbor- 
hood has since undergone could scarcely have 
been foreseen. But herein, as in all things and 
ever, God’s providence was wisest, since, doubt- 
less, for the poor even much more has been 
accomplished than might have been done else- 
where. Nor are the poor the sole class to be 
considered; while there are poor in other things 
than worldly wealth, whose hearts it is no vain 
work to move to the ministering to the relief of 
those who are only such. 


Those are not the words of a pulpit politician. 
Nor be these, spoken years later: 


While there has ever been, it is believed, the 
speaking of the Truth in love and with all due 
prudence, it has never been withheld, or modi- 
fied, or adapted to the wisdom, or the ignorance, 
of the Nineteenth Century, lest this man or 
woman of wealth or influence, in its up building 
days, would not come to the Church of the 
Transfiguration, or lest this man or this woman 
of wealth or influence might go from it. The 
man of wealth and of influence has never here 
been courted, or had place, for his wealth and his 
influence. 





on Fifth Avenue in the late ’60s 


“Church Parade”’ 


The 





Bare Hands and a Backbone 61 


After a sermon that was not “adapted to the 
wisdom, or the ignorance”’ of the day, a parishioner 
came to Dr. Houghton: “How could you have 
preached such a sermon at this time, when pews 
are to be rented or to be given up?”” Dr. Hough- 
ton’s reply: “Such a time is a good, an honest 
time for preaching just such a sermon.” 


In the pulpit of the Church of the Transfigura- 
tion, no flirting with Modernism, no truckling to 
current opinion, to popular opinion, to opinion 
either in his own congregation or in the Episcopal 
Church of the day. 

A militant believer in the old Faith of the Fa- 
thers, he nailed his flag boldly to the masthead! 

No tolerance for changing fashions in the “‘ Truth 
of God”’: a doctrine that was once the “Truth of 
God”’ is always the “Truth of God’’: no compre- 
hension how the “Truth of the Omniscient God 
can be other than “eternal unchangeable Truth.”’ 

Only those acquainted with the stormy history 
of the Episcopal Church in the Nineteenth Century, 
can realize the significance of Dr. Houghton’s stand 
for the old Faith. 

For two centuries preaching had been exalted at 
the expense of Sacraments. Communion was al- 
most universally neglected. 

A dozen years before Houghton began his minis- 
try, the famous Oxford divine and poet, John Keble, 
startled the English Church by a sermon on “ Na- 


62 The Little Church Around the Corner 


tional Apostacy. That sermon was a trumpet-call 
to a revolt, bitterly fought—the Catholic Revival 
in the Anglican Communion. 

Young Houghton was among the first in America 
to follow the standard that had been raised by 
Keble. We got glimpse of this adherence, in the 
letters written to him, when a divinity student, by 
his friend, Moore. 

In England, the civil authority directs how ser- 
vices are to be rendered. In the ’70s and ’80s of 
the last century—the period of Houghton’s richest 
pastoral harvest—priests in the English Church 
were jailed for doing what Houghton did in his 
services every day in Twenty-ninth Street. 

In the Episcopal Church in America, it is not 
easy to prosecute a parish priest: he has a legal 
status which is hard to touch. But there were 
those two formidable weapons of attack: popular 
denunciation and ecclesiastical ostracism. More 
than one of Houghton’s contemporaries felt the cut 
of these. 

The personality of the Transfiguration Rector, 
the affection that many in the Church at large felt 
for him, saved him much. But he did not go un- 
scathed. It required a man’s courage to take a 
leadership, even here in America, of the movement 
for the Catholic Revival. 


From first to last, from the beginning until 
the present, there has been no putting forth of 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 63 


any personal, individual notions of Doctrine and 
of Duty, of Holy Scripture, and of Inspiration. 
The endeavor has been to teach that which was 
held and taught aforetime, that which the 
Church has received and held and taught from 
the beginning. There has been no deviation, 
' no change, no turning back, no preaching of one 
thing today and of another thing, the opposite, 
tomorrow. There has been but the one simple 
right onward course, so far as the teaching was 
concerned. 

As the old paths, the paths of the Church, the 
paths of the Apostles and Martyrs and Saints, 
have been more and more clearly discerned, it 
has been, ever more and more, the desire and the 
endeavor to point them out, and the more 
earnestly to say: “This is the way. Walk ye in 
Theta 

This Church has been instrumental, by the 
blessing of God, in doing not a little to render 
elsewhere—to render, perhaps, generally—less 
obnoxious, less difficult, more easy the teaching 
of the Faith once delivered to the Saints, the use 
of some of the Church Ornaments and some of 
the Church Furniture and Eucharistic Vest- 
ments, that, through prejudice and want of 
knowledge, had fallen into disuse; and the revival 
of some of the significant, helpful, practices and 
observances of the Church Catholic—not Roman 
Catholie, but universal—which for the same 


64. The Little Church Around the Corner 


reasons had largely ceased to be followed. 


The week following the Sunday in March, 
1850, when a portion of this building was first 
opened for Divine Worship, a Church Paper, at 
first to the somewhat prejudice of the young and 
inexperienced Rector, stated in an editorial, 
which went somewhat over the Church land, 
that said Rector had requested the Bishop of 
Pennsylvania, when preaching at the Trans- 
figuration on the afternoon of that day, to 
preach in the Surplice!—as if even asking him 
to do so had been worse than breaking four or 
five of the Commandments. 

When the two Eucharistic Lights—that tell 
of Christ, both God and Man, as the Light of the 
world—were here about to be introduced, and 
the good Bishop Horatio Potter—God rest him! 
—was asked not to sanction what was proposed, 
but to state whether he were adverse to 1t—he 
said, “On the contrary, I think that we make 
altogether too little of the things which teach 
through the eye,’’—and then he gravely shook 
his wise head and added, “‘But you must con- 
sider whether you will run the risk of breaking 
your neck for a straw, as it were.” 

Those Eucharistic Lights and that Altar Cross 
were made the subject of more than one speech, 
to which the Rector listened in a General Con- 
vention which he had permitted here to be held, 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 65 


owing to the bad acoustic properties of the place 
where it had assembled. Nothing had ever been 
seen like them by the speakers in any of our 
churches before.  “‘ That cross is leading the way, 
and those candles are lighting the way, to Rome, 
to Rome! sir,” exclaimed one of the speakers. 

And any one may read, who cares to read, in 
the life of a certain Reformed Episcopal Bishop, 
of a proposed indignation meeting because those 
Lights and that Cross had stood as a standing 
insult to that Convention during its Session. 
That Convention had not been invited to come 
and sit before that Cross and those Candles. It 
had asked to be permitted to come. And to 
think of men claiming to believe in Christ—in 
Him as the propitiation for the sins of the world, 
and as the Light of the World—professing to be 
scandalized and insulted by the presence of the 
Symbols of that Propitiation and of that Light! 

But things are different now. And even then 
at the close of that Convention, one of the 
Delegates, now a Bishop, standing before the 
Chancel, said to the Rector, “‘The Church at 
large owes you a debt of gratitude, for having 
accustomed this Convention to the sight of that 
Cross and of those Candles.” (From Anni- 
versary Sermon, 1893.) 


A ritualist, but one who never worshipped the 
form and forgot the essence; a man to whom God 


66 The Little Church Around the Corner 


was as real as his next-door neighbor, but who 
never forgot that his neighbor was one of “the 
children of God”’ and that a kindness to the child 
is a service to the Father; a man whose religion 
was not limited to his dealings with God in prayer 
and hymn-singing, but was a part of his dealings 
with his fellowmen, not a Sunday religion but an 
every-day religion. 


Of the classical literature that was read by 
me in my early days, there was, in particular, 
builded into my mind, there to remain and to 
exert its influence my life long, a line of a Roman 
poet: 

“Homo Sum: Humani Ntiuit a Me ALIENUM 
Puto.”’ 

Homo Sum! I am a man, with all his sus- 
ceptibilities to sin, to suffering, to sorrow. I 
know what can gladden him and what can sadden 
him; what can tempt and overcome him. I am 
a man, whose it may be to experience whatever 
vicissitudes can fall to the lot of man. I may 
be impoverished. Home and friends and good 
name may be lost to me. Weakness of body 
and mind may await me. I may be hungry, 
sightless, deaf, halt, loathsome to look upon or 
approach. In the prison, in the hospital, with 
the outcasts my place may be; the common 
death and corruption are before me. 

And, therefore, because of this, because I am 


Bare Hands and a Backbone 67 


one of those whose susceptibilities of whatsoever 
sort I know, and whose experiences, of whatso- 
ever kind, I cannot say that I may not be called 
to undergo, as some of them I assuredly shall: 

*Humani Nrait A Me AuienvumM Puro.” 

I think nothing alien to me, nothing foreign 
to me, nothing void of interest to me, nothing a 
matter of unconcern to me, that has to do with 
my fellow man, with his weal or his woe. 

I, that am human, will never fail to be touched 
with a feeling for all human infirmity. I, that 
know the need of a never-failing charity, will 
never fail in the exercise of charity toward all 
men. 

“Homo Sum: Humani Niait a Me ALIENUM 
Puto.” 

This line, early built into my mind, and early 
chosen as the motto of the seal for my letters, I 
have desired and sought to illustrate, in such 
measure as I could, in my life and intercourse 
with all men. 

As St. Paul says to those to whom he is writing 
that he is their servant for Christ’s sake, so I 
might well have added to the line, in my early 
appropriation of it, “propter Curistum”’: for 
Christ’s sake, Who became man, that what, as 
God, He knew by His omniscience, as man He 
might know by His experience, viz.: the in- 
firmities of man, and sympathize with man, and 
minister to him according to ‘his whatsoever 


68 The Little Church Around the Corner 


need. Ah! would that it might ever more and 
more thus be so with us all! so that we might 
desire and strive, not only by reason of what we 
are, but for Christ’s sake, to be sympathizers 
and servants of all men. 


When the alterations of 1864 were finished, ‘‘no 
further enlargement of the church, no other altera- 
tion,” was “contemplated or coveted”? by Dr. 
Houghton. Just one thing more he wanted: “‘at 
the main entrance to the grounds, a Gate-porch, 
with its font for the thirsty and its seat for the 
weary passer.” 

Could stone and iron be used in more speaking 
structure, to disclose the spirit of the man? 


A STRAY DOG AND A SYMBOL 


Back in 1850, the new church building, just 
finished, was occupied almost simultaneously by 
three tenants: the congregation, the Rector, and a 
stray dog. 

As already related, the Rector used a room as 
study and lodging place. It was not long after the 
first service: across the vacant lots behind the 
church, came the first seeker of sanctuary—‘‘a 
poor, miserable, ill-used dog with a rope ’round his 
neck.”” He made his way through one of the air 
holes under the rear of the church. 

Where the Rector ate in those days of tempor- 
ary, bachelor lodgment, I do not know. It ob- 
viously could not have been in his room in the 
church, and so his neighbor below-stairs could not 
have been fed with handy plate-scrapings. But 
fed he was, day after day, month after month. 
At first the food was laid at the air hole: such was 
the waif’s fear of man that he would come out only 
at night. But finally he was coaxed into the open; 
confidence won; friendship established. 

He had a home. 

He died some nine years later. 

69 


70 The Little Church Around the Corner 


In a sermon preached years afterwards, the 
Rector said that “‘it was counted an happy omen”’ 
that that abused dog should have crept under the 
church “as if knowing that Transfiguration would 
afford him shelter, safety and food.” 

For nine years, humble symbol of the spirit of 
kindliness that dwelt within that church! 

During those years, just before the Civil War, 
there were many hunted, homeless wayfarers— 
blacks, escaping from slavery, travelling under 
cover of night, to the Canadian border and liberty. 
It is said that the church on Twenty-ninth Street 
was a station on the “underground route.” Of 
this, I can not write with any authority. When 
the keeping of such secrets was no longer necessary, 
it became one of those things that are “a matter 
of common knowledge.” The probability is that 
in this instance ““common knowledge”’ was right. 

°61—the call to the colors—regiments going 
south—soon, trains coming north, bearing the grim 
grist of war. 

A hospital was hastily opened. There was no 
provision for spiritual ministrations. The same 
man who, thirteen years before, under like circum- 
stances, gave his services at Bellevue, now volun- 
teered at the war hospital. He held a short service 
daily, the music being supplied by one of his women 
parishioners (another was in charge of the fever 
ward); he comforted the wounded and the dying; 
put “‘last messages” on their homeward way; read 


A Stray Dog and a Symbol 71 


the Burial Office, standing by the side of the hearse, 
in the street in front of the hospital. This he did for 
six months, until a paid chaplain was appointed. 

July, 1863—Draft Riots in New York—three 
days’ reign of the rabble—business suspended— 
buildings looted and burned—civilians and police 
assaulted and killed—armories and police stations 
attacked—streets barricaded—Governor Seymour 
issues proclamation declaring city “‘in a state of in- 
surrection”’—pitched battles between mobs and 
militia—mover twelve hundred killed—ten regi- 
ments, including regulars, hurried to the city—the 
rabble dethroned. 

It was the negroes chiefly that roused the blood- 
lust of the mob. The colored folk were driven from 
their homes, from sick-beds, hunted in the streets, 
beaten, shot, dragged by a rope at the heels, hung 
from lamp-posts, bonfires lighted, the pyres circled 
by dancing, shrieking, blood-maddened men and 
‘women. 

On the first of that awful triad of days, several 
thousand rioters swooped down on the Colored 
Orphan Asylum, then occupying the block front 
on Fifth Avenue from Forty-third to Forty-fourth 
Street. The hundreds of helpless piccaninnies 
were hurried out of a back door while the mob was 
breaking in at the front. The torch was applied in 
a score of places and the building burned to the 
ground. The children were given shelter in one of 
the police station houses. Many of these were 


72 The Little Church Around the Corner 


filled with black refugees, and a number of them 
were attacked by mobs, determined to get their 
prey. A horde marched on police headquarters 
itself, and was stopped only after a bloody en- 
counter with a large force of police reserves. 

My father, who saw that upheaval of the city’s 
scum, has told me that there was a catholic church 
in which a large number of negroes found sanctu- 
ary, the priest, with uplifted cross, at the door. 
Perhaps there were other men of God, who played 
that noble part. I would like here to publish the 
roster. As it is, I can give only one name—George 
Hendric Houghton. 

For what reason, other than the instinct that 
guided the stray dog, I do not know: large numbers 
of negroes sought the Church of the Transfigura- 
tion, and, like the four-footed outcast, were there 
given refuge. 

Joseph Osborn Curtis, who attended the parish 
school, tells me that one of the most vivid memories 
of his boyhood, is the night when their “old colored 
nurse was taken, closely veiled, from our home on 
Thirty-fourth Street, down to the church.” 

A kitchen was extemporized. The refugees slept 
upon the floors—of the Parish library, of the choris- 
ters’ robing room, the Sunday school, the room 
above the chantry, overflowing even into the 
church itself. 

““As I recall those days,” said Dr. Houghton, 
years later, “I never can forget the coming of that 


Q Strap Dog and a Spmbol 73 


vestryman, Edward A. Quintard—God bless him! 
—from the country, and, with open pocket-book 
in hand, saying that he must have part, as he did, 
in the feeding of those forlorn and desolate ones.” 

When it leaked out that “‘niggers’’ were harbored 
in the church, crowds collected a number of times 
in Twenty-ninth Street and threatened to break in 
the doors, to burn the buildings, unless their quarry 
were surrendered. “‘But before every such crowd,”’ 
according to the notes left by his nephew, “the 
Rector appeared in person, and by his undaunted 
courage and kindly spoken words, appeased the 
rioters and caused their dispersion.”’ | 

When the turbulence throughout the city was at 
its worst, a police sergeant on duty in the precinct, 
called upon the Rector and told him that the 
rioters were likely to return in force any moment, 
that the police would be powerless to withstand 
them, and that to keep the negroes within the 
church any longer was simply inviting destruction. 

“You see, Dr. Houghton, I have come in citizen’s 
dress to warn you. You had better put the negroes 
out.”’ 

**T think not.” 

T tell you, Doctor, the mob will tear the church 
down about your head.” 

‘No, they will not enter here.” 

‘““What’s to stop them?”’ 

“T will stand in the door of the church. I don’t 
think they will pass me.”’ 


74 The Little Church Around the Corner 


The sergeant looked into the eyes of the Rector 
for a moment, then turned away, saying: 

“Well, I guess you will do whatever you think 
best, Dr. Houghton.” 

In a compilation of greetings, quotations, remin- 
iscences, and other like things, made in the form 
of a diary, for Dr. Houghton a few years before 
his death, the following item is written on one of 
the July pages: 


This night, 1863, during the draft riots, at his 
suggestion, most delicately made, I passed at the 
Rectory of the Transfiguration with the Rev. 
G. H. Houghton. The church was full of negroes 
and the police threatened to withdraw their 
protection unless the Doctor turned the negroes 
out. He refused, saying the altar of God was 
an asylum for a wolf in the Middle Ages, and 
that it should be for the black man in the nine- 
teenth century. We, the Doctor and I, were 
alone, and kept vigil together, expecting an 
attack every minute, and possible death. The 
morning came, and we, thank God, were safe. 
Such an experience makes men love each other. 

GrorGE F. SEYMOUR 
Bishop of Springfield. 


For three days, to those colored folk the Trans- 
figuration had been home in the most primitive 
sense of the word—a shelter from danger, a retreat, 


@ Strap Dog and a Spmbol 75 


a cave, a hole-in-the-ground. When order was 
restored, when the city renewed its normal life, 
thither many of them turned their steps to find a 
spiritual home. They were made welcome. That 
particular House of God was for all. 

Possibly George Wilson and his wife, Elizabeth, 
were among those now drawn to the church. 
Possibly Wilson’s pre-war activity assisting run- 
away slaves already had brought him in contact 
with the rector of a church that may have been a 
station on the “‘underground route.’ However, 
post-bellum days found the two old negroes, George 
and Elizabeth, installed in the church. They 
acted as door-keepers and pew-openers; in reality, 
they were pensioners. 

Here is the story, written thirty-odd years ago, 
by one whose pew-door they had often opened: 


George had been a slave in his younger days, 
Elizabeth was born free. He was a tall man 
with grey hair and beard, a wrinkled forehead 
above a pair of fine eyes, a stoop in his back, an 
occasional halt in his step, for he was a rheu- 
matic old man, quite feeble, and therefore a 
pensioner of the church. Elizabeth was not 
much better in health and strength than George, 
but she was more active. She regarded the 
church as her special possession and care, “‘for 
which she was responsible to the Rector and 


God.” 


76 The Little Church Around the Corner 


On weekdays you would be sure to find the 
two, moving slowly about the church, dusting 
here, cleaning there, arranging this or that, or 
perhaps, sitting silent, as if at home. 

On Sundays they stood at the Transept door, 
and their faces always greeted incomers, both 
parishioners and strangers, with a smile of 
welcome. 

They were a devoted couple, devout and 
humble in life, much loved by all the Parish. 
They had become, one might almost say, a part 
of the church decoration, for their forms made a 
feature of no little beauty in the home-like 
church. 

When first one, and then the other was missed, 
there was a vacancy to which it took long to 
become accustomed. Elizabeth was the first to 
go. In the room where she lay dying, Rector 
and husband were kneeling side-by-side, close 
to the bed. The last Blessing had been given; 
the passing soul committed “into Thy Hands, 
O Lord.” The old man, weeping silently, held 
his wife’s hand. She was restless and moved 
her head uneasily. Still holding her hand in 
one of his, he reached out the other, gently 
passing it over her forehead as if he would 
smooth the wrinkles. “Never mind, never 
mind, Bessie darling, you’ll soon be washed all 
white.”” No one ever before had heard him 
call her anything but Elizabeth; no one ever 





Dr. George Hendric Houghton 


From a photograph taken about the time the Church of 
the Transfiguration was popularly re-christened 
‘The Little Church Around the Corner”’ 





"a 
' 
A — 
= 5 
be ! 
~ . 
} ‘ 
' 2. sd 
r 
= O< ‘ 
> . * 
Zs ' 
’ * ® 
= , i 
re hs ' : é * 
i P * : 
i = 
* 
\ . 
- 
F « ‘ 
< -~ 
° ‘ 5 : = ; 
- : “ 
, : 
. 
= 7 4 4 + ss 
ry * a J ~ 
~ 4 = 7 
a r - 
f “ ‘ ~ 
» . 
‘ 
~ \ Ss 
> > he ’ 
t a 
= 7 4 Cs 
- : - 
= ’ 
: ( ) 
. £ -— 
$ - 
i 
re a 
y . 
= - 
n * ea 
f bad ’ 
: ‘ P 
_— 
Ps = 
3 oh: - . 4 


@ Strap Dog and a Spmbol 77 


before had heard from him any hint that he de- 
sired to be any other color. His heart now spoke 
out its hidden emotions of love and longing. 


She was buried from the church. So too, not a 
great while after, was her husband. Upon his 
death-bed, he called often to his wife: “I am 
coming—lI will be along soon.” 

And now the people of this parish thought it 
fitting that, among the memorials of their own 
dead, there should be a memorial of the two door- 
keepers. Close by the entry at which they had 
stood for so many a Sunday, there was placed a 
fine specimen of American work in stained glass. 
The painting in the window represents the baptism 
of the Ethiopian by St. Philip. This is the in- 
scription: 


In Memory of George B. and Elizabeth Wilson, 
Sometime Doorkeeper in this House of the Lord. 
Psalm \xxxiv, 10. 


That text reads: “For a day in thy courts ts 
better than a thousand. I had rather be a door- 
keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in 
the tents of wickedness.”’ 

It would be interesting to know if, throughout 
the world, there is another white man’s church in 
which there is a memorial of a colored man. 


A PHARISEE LIFTS THE BUSHEL 


Ir is one of the little ironies of fame that the 
name of a man, famous in his day for the laughter 
he brought into the world, should be kept alive for 
posterity through an incident connected with his 
funeral. 

It takes the oldsters of the present generation to 
remember that comic genius, George Holland, as a 
live figure behind the footlights, and even these 
oldsters can remember him only as a veteran, a 
man who had long outlived his contemporaries. 

Holland was born in England in 1791, and it was 
not many years thereafter that he entered upon his 
long career of professional fun-making. ‘The 
audience laugh the moment he shows his face,” 
a manager protested to Macready who wanted 
Holland to support him in a tragedy. 

He came to this country in 1827, making his 
first appearance at the old Bowery Theatre. He 
made Uncle Sam laugh, just as he had made John 
Bull. He played in many cities, from Boston to 
New Orleans. 

Holland’s merriment was innate, an inseparable 
part of himself, a thing not reserved for professional 

78 


AY Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 79 


purposes on the stage but a characteristic of his 
everyday life. “‘His personality was essentially 
comic,” wrote Joseph Jefferson, who knew him in 
his latter years, playing in the same company. 
“He lived, a bright and cheerful spirit, in this world 
for eighty years, for time could not age his youth- 
ful heart. He was the merriest man I ever knew.”’ 

Jefferson tells us that “‘practical joking was a 
passion” with Holland, and relates that 


Some goldfish had been placed in the orna- 
mental fountain in Union Square. Holland 
dressed himself in a full sporting suit, and with 
a fish-basket strapped upon his shoulder, a 
broad-brimmed hat upon his head, and a rod in 
his hand, he unfolded a camp-stool, and quietly 
seating himself in front of the fountain began to 
fish, with such a patient and earnest look in his 
face that no one could have supposed that it 
was intended as a practical joke. This strange 
spectacle soon attracted a curious crowd about 
the sportsman, who, with a vacant and idiotic 
smile, sat there quietly awaiting a nibble. A 
policeman soon forced his way through the 
crowd and arrested Holland, who explained with 
a bewildered look that he was fishing in his own 
private grounds. The policeman naturally con- 
cluded that the intruder was some harmless 
lunatic, and, patting him kindly on the shoulder, 
bade him go home to his friends. Holland burst 


80 


Che Little Church Around the Corner 


into a flood of tears, and while affectionately 
embracing the guardian of the law contrived to 
fasten the fish-hook into the collar of the police- 
man’s coat, who walked slowly away, uncon- 
sciously dragging the line and rod after him. 
The crowd, seeing the joke, roared with laughter 
as Holland quickly made his way to the nearest 
omnibus, which he reached before the infuriated 
policeman could catch him. 


An incident occurred during Holland’s connec- 


tion with the St. Charles Theatre, New Orleans, 
which is “an illustration of that active benevolence 
for which he was at all times distinguished.” (I 
quote from Morrell’s Holland Memorial: Sketch of 
the Lafe of George Holland, the Veteran Comedian.) 


He had been in the habit of attending musical 
parties at the home of the leader of the orchestra, 
Mr. Lewis, who had been left a widower with 
two beautiful and accomplished daughters. His 
housekeeper, a colored woman named Mary, had 
a child some seven years of age, and the impres- 
sion among the visitors to the house was that 
both were free. Lewis died suddenly. The 
executors discovered among his effects a paper 
for the emancipation of Mary and her child, but 
unfortunately it was without any signature. 
The executors were compelled to announce them 
for sale. In her distress, the poor woman ap- 


Q Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 81 


pealed earnestly to all whom she had seen at 
the musical parties at the house to purchase her, 
but in vain. Holland was made of different 
stuff, and when appealed to, at once promised to 
advance the purchase money; this he found, 
upon inquiry, much more than he had supposed, 
but he was aided by a friend, who having once 
lived with a slave dealer, was posted in all the 
mysteries of that trade. “I will buy them cheap 
for you,’ he said. When they appeared on the 
block for sale, their dress and manner were so 
changed that they seemed forlorn and useless 
creatures. They were bid off for $800, and thus 
Holland became a slave holder. He soon di- 
vested himself of the character, renouncing, as 
the legal instrument given to the poor creatures 
states, “‘all claim to their persons and services, 
freeing and liberating them henceforth and 
forever.” | 


Many of us can be merry; some of us can prac- 
tice kindliness, in the obscure paths of life, even 
though the cost is big; but to only a few is given 
the great-heartedness to meet that crucial test— 
to realize that we are going into eclipse, a final 
eclipse, and not to be embittered. Joseph Jefferson 
in his Autobiography says of Holland: 


He was quite an old man when I first knew 
him, and I had serious doubts as to whether our 


82 The Little Church Around the Corner 


acquaintance in the theatre would be an agree- 
able one; for by the terms of my engagement I 
was to hold a leading part as the comedian of 
the company, and he, who had always occupied 
that station, was placed as second to me. I 
naturally thought that feeling himself com- 
paratively subordinate, and that I, a younger 
man, was to outrank him, he would, by his 
manner at least, resent my intrusion upon his 
former ground. I was, however, agreeably 
mistaken; for I found him too generous a man to 
harbor any jealous feelings, and to my gratifica- 
tion we were friends from our first meeting. It 
is pleasant also to know that this relationship 
extended over many years, and up to the day of 
his death. 


Though he could “be a Cesar within himself,” 
could keep the laughter in his voice, the old 
twinkle in his eye, his physical self could not refuse 
the toll of the years. Infirmities came upon him, 
and, fatal to his professional life, his utterance 
became indistinct. 

During the season of 1869-70, he was without 
any engagement. He had raised a family of five, 
three sons and two daughters. This had prevented 
much provision for the future. The old man 
needed help, and Augustin Daly, who had just 
leased the Fifth Avenue Theatre, tended it in the 
form of an engagement for the season. Holland 


A Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 83 


eagerly accepted. He appeared in a number of 
plays, and the audiences were generous with their 
applause. He played his last réle in Surf, but he 
played only the first night of its public production, 
his feebleness compelling Mr. Daly to relieve him 
of the part. 

Sympathy was aroused. It expressed itself in a 
benefit performance. This was given at the Fifth 
Avenue Theatre on the night of May 15, 1870. 
The performance of the evening was Frou Frou. 
Between the first and second acts, the curtain was 
raised, and Mr. Holland appeared, leaning on the 
-arm of Mr. Daly. ‘Enthusiastic plaudits.” The 
old man took his seat in an arm chair, and the 
whole company gathered around him. Mr. Daly 
stepped forward to the footlights. 

*“At the last moment, Mr. Holland, who has 
represented so many characters in his time, finds 
it impossible to represent himself, and he has asked 
me to read you these words: 

_ ““*Tadies and Gentlemen’: (Please now to con- 

sider that the veteran is speaking to you through 
his young manager, proud also to be his friend.) 
‘I have not often in my long career been troubled 
with stage fright; but I see so many kind faces 
turned toward me, I feel that my own worth is so 
small and your favor is so great, and my heart is so 
full of emotion, that the words that are needed for 
expression fail me. I am, for the time being, no 
longer a low comedian, but a heavy, blubbering 


84 The Little Church Around the Corner 


father. Instead of quips and cranks, I feel myself 
better fitted for weeping. ’”’ 

The curtain was rung down. The applause 
continued—insistent. ‘There were shouts, “‘Hol- 
land! Holland!” What memories must have 
stirred of the years when those shouts, now voicing 
sympathy, were triumphal music! The veteran of 
threescore years upon the boards took his final 
“‘curtain call.’ He tried to speak, but emotion 
mastered him. He could only utter a fervent 
“God bless you.”’ It was his last speech across the 
footlights. 

On December 6, 1870, he wrote to Mr. Daly: 
“I have undergone the operation of tapping three 
times, viz., Sept. 12, Oct. 25, and Nov. 23, and 
now again require it. This is my seventy-ninth 
birthday.” 

His physician, Dr. H. F. Quackenbos, “‘told him 
fully of the nature of his disease and the impossi- 
bility of its cure.” Holland answered that “‘he 
was aware of his condition, and that he only 
grieved at leaving his family in circumstances 
which, with all his labor and time, did not meet 
his desires.” 

Five days before Christmas he died in his 
sleep. 

Here is an excerpt from a half-column editorial, 
headed ‘“‘“Mr. George Holland,” that appeared in 
The New York Times on Dec. 22, the day of his 
funeral: 


Q@ Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 85 


. . . Mr. Holland .. . lived to a great 
age—hard upon 80—without a stain on his name 
or the performance of any part in the drama of life 
over the memory of which those who loved him 
need blush. . . . He kept popularity, as well 
as commanded respect, and there will be thou- 
sands even of the rising generation to lament 
his loss. . . . He was gathered to his fathers, 
full of years and of honor. None could wish a 
better record, or desire a purer wreath than 
affection will twine around the old actor’s tomb. 


An hour or two before the funeral service old 
friends gathered at the Holland home, 509 Third 
Avenue, “‘to accompany the remains to the church. 
Joe Jefferson, Mr. Augustin Daly and Mayor Hall 
were among the first to arrive.”’ (I quote from 
newspaper accounts.) The body, “in a neat black 
walnut casket,’ was borne “‘to the Church of the 
Transfiguration, in Twenty-ninth Street, near Madi- 
son Avenue. It was placed in the recess immedi- 
ately inside the main entrance, and the cover being 
removed, the friends of Mr. Holland passed around 
it single file and took their last look at his well- 
known face.” 


I will not quote the long list of the stage celebri- 
ties of the day who gathered in the church: only a 
few of the older generation would recognize them— 
the “stars,” long since dimmed and gone, of 


86 The Little Church Around the Corner 


tragedy, comedy, of black-faced minstrelsy, and 
burlesque. 


The church indeed was completely filled by 
the members of the profession and persons on 
terms of intimacy with the deceased. The Rev. 
Dr. Houghton read the burial service, after 
which the casket was closed, and borne by six 
men to the hearse, the congregation following, 
the cortége wended its way to Cypress Hills 
Cemetery, and the body was laid in a lot belong- 
ing to the American Dramatic Fund. 


It would seem that the end of the chapter had 
been reached. 

The achievement of an actor is an evanescent 
thing—a thing writ on air—as transitory as a 
gesture, the sound of a voice, the flash of an eye. 
He leaves no material record of his art. When the 
curtain is finally rung down on his career, his fame 
fades with the passing of the generation that knew 
him. 

But a little thing had happened—only a few 
moments’ conversation, in private, between two 
men—and that little thing awoke a tempest that, 
within a few days after his death, carried the name 
of George Holland over the country as it had never 
been carried in his lifetime. Some of those who re- 
turned from that grave in Cypress Hills Cemetery, 
were as popular with the public as had been the 


A Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 87 


man they left there; yet, with two or three excep- 
tions, their names are long since buried in oblivion. 
The tempest has long since died out, but it served 
to bring down to succeeding generations the name 
of George Holland. | 

That little thing—that few moments’ conversa- 
tion, In private, between two men—was dragged 
from its privacy, was told in public by The Evening 
Telegram of Dec. 28, a week after it had taken 
place. The next morning the great dailies retold 
it to their bigger publics. The telegraph carried 
it to every part of the nation. A conversation 
that had been encompassed by the four walls of a 
rector’s study was now heard from Maine to Texas, 
from New York to California: Toe Rev. WiLL1AM 
T. SABINE, RECTOR OF THE CHURCH OF THE ATONE- 
MENT, REFUSED TO Bury GEORGE HOLLAND FROM 
His Cuurcu Brcause Grorce Hoituanp Hap 
BEEN AN AcTOR, AND REFERRED THE DEAD MaAn’s 
FRIEND TO A CHURCH AROUND THE CORNER. 

That much—and it is the heart of the conversa- 
tion—stands out clearcut, in agreement with the 
version of each of the two men who took part in 
that conversation. Joseph Jefferson in his auto- 
biography gave his version; the Rev. William T. 
Sabine gave his in an interview printed in The 
New York Times on Dec. 29, 1870, the day the 
conversation was made public in the morning 
newspapers. 

To quote Mr. Sabine: 


88 The Little Church Around the Corner 


“A gentleman [he did not know it was Joseph 
Jefferson] visited me on last Thursday, I think, 
and desired to have me officiate at a burial. 
He mentioned the name of one of my lady 
parishioners as a sort of introduction to me. I 
told him that I was willing to officiate at the 
funeral.” 


At this point comes the first divergence. Ac- 
cording to Mr. Sabine: 


“The gentleman subsequently said that it was 
fair that I should know all the circumstances, as 
he understood that some clergymen objected to 
taking part at the obsequies of a play-actor. 
He said that the deceased was a play-actor.” 


According to Mr. Jefferson: 


“Something, I can scarcely say what, gave me 
the impression that I had best mention that Mr. 
Holland was an actor. I did so in a few words, 
and concluded by presuming that probably this 
fact would make no difference.” 


To again quote Mr. Sabine: 
**T said that I had a distaste for officiating at 


such a funeral, and that I did not care to be 
mixed up in it. I said to the gentleman that I 





JOSEPH JEFFERSON 

















GEORGE HOLLAND 
The Rev. Mr. Sabine (having refused to read the burial service over the 


body of George Holland because Holland had beenanactor): “I believe 
there is a little church around the corner where they do such things.”’ 
Joseph Jefferson: “If that be so, then God bless the little church around 


the corner.”’ 





Q Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 89 


was willing to bury the deceased from his house, 
but that I objected to having the funeral solem- 
nized at church.” 


To The Times reporter’s question if it is one of 
the laws of the Protestant Episcopal Church that 
a deceased theatrical performer shall not be buried 
from the church, Mr. Sabine replied: 


“It is not; but I have always warned the pro- 
fessng members of my congregation to keep 
away from theatres and not have anything to do 
with them. I don’t think they teach moral 

_lessons.”’ 


Mr. Jefferson was accompanied by one of Mr. 
Holland’s sons. Again quoting Mr. Jefferson: 


“While his [Mr. Sabine’s] refusal to perform 
the funeral rites for my old friend would have 
shocked under ordinary circumstances, the fact 
that 1t was made in the presence of the dead 
man’s son was more painful than I can describe. 
I turned to look at the youth and saw that his 
eyes were filled with tears. He stood as one 
dazed. with a blow just realized; as if he felt the 
terrible injustice of a reproach upon a kind and 
loving father. I was hurt for my young friend 
and. indignant with the man—too much so to 
reply; and I rose to leave the room with a morti- 
fication that I cannot remember to have felt 


90 The Little Church Around the Corner 


before or since. I paused at the door and said: 
‘Well, sir, in this dilemma is there no other 
church to which you can direct me, from which 
my friend can be buried?’ He replied that 
‘there was a little church around the corner’ 
where I might get it done; to which I answered: 
‘Then, if this be so, God bless “‘the little church 
around the corner,”’’ and so I left the house.”’ 


Here again there is divergence: 


Reporter—Did you recommend Mr. Jefferson 
to visit any other clergyman? 

Mr. Sabine—I told him that he might obtain 
the church around the corner from mine for the 
funeral service. I had read in the newspapers 
that funerals of actors had taken place at Mr. 
Houghton’s church. 

Reporter—Did Mr. Jefferson, on hearing you , 
announce that the Rev. Dr. Houghton might 
officiate at the funeral, say “‘God bless that little 
church around the corner.” 

Mr. Sabine—He did not. I think his remark 
was “all credit to that little church.”’ 


Edward Holland, the dead comedian’s son, who 
accompanied Mr. Jefferson, was between youth 
and manhood. He had recently begun his stage 
career, a member of the company at Wallack’s. 
To a Herald reporter he said: 


@ Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 91 


““My brother-in-law’s mother by marriage is 
a member of Mr. Sabine’s church and my young- 
er brother and sister both attend the Sunday 
school attached to it. We, therefore, thought, 
especially as the church is so near to our resi- 
dence, that it would be best for Mr. Sabine to 
conduct the burial service. Mr. Jefferson and 
myself accordingly waited upon him and at 
first he assented to our request. But Mr. Jeffer- 
son told Mr. Sabine that Mr. Holland was an 
actor. Mr. Sabine at once replied that he would 
rather not have anything to do with the funeral.” 


Reporter—Did he say he would not bury him 
from the church, or that he would not even read 
the burial service over him? 

Mr. Holland—That question was never raised. 
He said he had an objection to burying an actor, 
but added that there was a church around the 
corner where they were in the habit of doing such 
things, and that he would advise us to go there. 

Reporter—Mr. George Holland was an Episco- 
palian, was he not? 

Mr. Holland—Yes, sir; he was brought up in 
that communion. 


A wave of indignant protest swept the country. 
Undoubtedly the popularity of George Holland 
had something to do with the intensity of the pro- 
test; so also had the fact that the refusal of the 


92 The Little Church Around the Corner 


rites of Christian burial came at the Christmas 
season, a time when kindliness and brotherliness 
are in the hearts of men. 

But the protest voiced something deeper, strong- 
er, than emotionalism. It was a rebuke to intoler- 
ance, to bigotry. 

The Franco-German War was at a critical stage; 
Congress was in session; pressure upon newspaper 
space was great. 

The New York Times (then an eight-page paper) 
gave a half column upon the front page to the 
account of Sabine’s refusal under the headline 
“‘Pharisaical Delicacy.”? On the same day (Dec. 
29) this newspaper also printed an editorial that 
almost filled a column, entitled ““A Sample of 
Priestly Intolerance”’: 


. We may think what we please of any 
man’s profession during his life—but to follow 
him with resentment after death on account of 
it, to pronounce a decree that he is fit only for 
the bottomless pit, and that no word of a Re- 
deemer’s love or of the resurrection should be 
pronounced over his grave—there is something 
so horrible in all this that we can scarcely believe 
it has really occurred in our own day and our 
own city. 


Seldom has the press of the country been pro- 
voked to more bitter denunciation. ‘‘Sanctimoni- 


A Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 93 


939 ¢¢ 99 ¢¢ 


ous Sabine,”’ “canting Pharisee,” “‘unfit to occupy 
the position he now holds,” “‘a congregation com- 
posed of intelligent, Christian people, can not per- 
mit this man to linger about their altar’—these 
were voices in the chorus of condemnation. 

On January 19, 1871, New York saw a thing 
which, I think, is without parallel in the history of 
the world: every theatre in the Metropolis opened 
its doors, actors and singers and acrobats and 
dancers in far greater numbers than could be used 
had volunteered their services, and the public 
coming in telling numbers—all this, a loving tes- 
timonial to a man who was dead, a stinging rebuke 
to a man who was living. 

“On Thursday next” (I quote the New York 
Herald) “‘every theatre in this city, musical and 
dramatic, will unite in offering a tribute to the 
memory of George Holland, in that form which 
would have been, could he speak his wish, dearest 
to him—a contribution to the comfort and happi- 
ness of his home. . . . We confess that when we 
first called attention to the insult which has pro- 
voked, at least to a large extent, this uprising, we 
had hardly looked for a response so proud, .. . 
nor can it be soon forgotten that in the very man- 
ner of making it, the members of the theatrical 
profession display a charity, the gorgeousness of 
which offers a picturesque contrast to the un- 
charitableness it is intended to rebuke.” 

The theatres, and those who walked their boards, 


94 The Little Church Around the Corner 


on that by-gone Thursday—what ghosts of old 
New York are conjured by the mere names! 
Niblo’s, Booth’s, Fifth Avenue, Olympic, Wal- 
lack’s, Wood’s Museum, Bowery, Lina Edwin’s, 
New York Circus, Academy of Music, Fourteenth 
Street, Grand Opera House—only a few have sur- 
vived the half century, and those few tell the story 
of ‘‘changed times”: Edwin Booth, Lawrence 
Barrett, Joseph Jefferson, E. L. Davenport, Mrs. 
Davenport, Mme. Janauschek, John Brougham, 
John Gilbert, Mrs. Gilbert, Sol Smith, Mrs. 
Eldridge, Fanny Davenport, Clara Morris, Tony 
Pastor, Dan Bryant, Lydia Thompson—a small 
part of the roster of those who gave their services 
on that notable but long-forgotten Thursday. 

New York was allowed no monopoly of the 
demonstration: there were ‘“‘testimonial’’ per- 
formances in Brooklyn, San Francisco, Boston, 
Vicksburg and Washington, D. C. 

Nor was the pulpit silent. Here there was some 
defence of Mr. Sabine, sermons preached in which 
the infamy of the stage was proclaimed. But I 
think the dominant voice was pitched otherwise. 


. . It ought to be a lesson; nor will its 
mission be rightfully concluded till the repeti- 
tion of such a thing shall be impossible, and the 
spirit that dictated it shall be dead. This ill- 
wind has blown a deal of good, many ways. 
Can we do nothing toward encouraging it into 


AQ Pharisee Lifts the Bushel 95 


a whirlwind that shall clean church and heart 
of the black lingering shadows of such intoler- 
ance? 


To a Herald reporter the Rev. Dr. Tyng, one of 
the leading Episcopal clergymen of the day, said: 

**Mr. Sabine acted silly, but any one who knows 
him, as I do, knows very well that he acted con- 
scientiously, and that there is not a more con- 
scientious young man in the Christian Church or 
ministry than he is. But because he acted silly in 
this instance is no reason why the newspapers and 
the public should beat his brains out.” 

It may be that Mr. Sabine profited by the lesson; 
it may be that it taught him to broaden his con- 
science. Of this [ know nothing. The record 
shows that he joined the Reformed Episcopal 
Church and died a Bishop. 

His old church, the Church of the Atonement, 
has long since been demolished, forgotten. What- 
ever of good or ill Mr. Sabine did in the world, this 
fact stands out: he unwittingly lifted the bushel 
from “a little church around the corner.”’ 


AND THE LIGHT SHINES OUT 


In those days the Herald printed every Monday 
morning a solid page of sermons that had been 
preached the previous day. They were plain, 
orthodox sermons, unspiced by rationalism, mod- 
ernism, sensationalism, any of those things which 
give “‘news value” to a sermon today: the mere 
fact that a sermon had been preached in a promi- 
nent church made it worthy of newspaper space. 

On Monday, January 2, 1871, four days after 
the Holland incident had been given to the public, 
two churches, hitherto inconspicuous, unnoted, 
got space on that page. 


CHURCH OF THE TRANSFIGURATION 


The “Little Church Around the Corner’’— 
New Year’s Service—What the Rev. 
Drs. Houghton and Tyng Say About 

Sabine’s Saintly Scruples. 


That was the first application, in print, of the 
name, “The Little Church Around the Corner.” 
Briefest mention that the sermon of the day, 
96 






















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































re 



















































































































































































va 






































” 
em) 


























































































































“ 


i : 
































The Church of the Transfiguration Gets into the Newspapers 


Illustration from Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper following the funeral of George Holland, the comedian 





And the Light Shines Out 97 


preached by Dr. Tyng, was in aid of the missions 
of the Church. Then: 


At the conclusion of the service the Herald 
reporter waited on the Rev. Drs. Houghton and 
Tyng in the vestry. After some remarks on the 
missionary labors the conversation touched on 
the 

SABINE SCANDAL. 

. It was admitted all round that Sabine 
would be glad to hear no more about the matter. 
Dr. Houghton, however, seemed as much riled 
as a man of his mild temperament could be with- 
in fifteen minutes after morning service, at 
Sabine’s would-be contemptuous remark that 
“there was some one in 

Tue LittLeE CuurcH AROUND THE CORNER” 
who was in the habit of doing such things. He 
could see no harm in consigning any Christian 
to the grave with the rites of the Church to 
which he belonged. When Mr. Holland, Jr., and 
Mr. Joseph Jefferson waited on him in the matter 
a couple of days before the funeral, the latter 
said: “I think it right to inform you that the 
deceased was an actor,” to which Dr. Houghton 
replied 

“T Have Notuine to Do WitH TuHat.” 

He did not know at the time of Sabine’s re- 
fusal, nor afterwards, until he saw it in the 
Herald. He supposed the way in which it was 


98 The Little Church Around the Corner 


believed that he was “‘in the habit of doing such 
things” arose from the fact of his having per- 
formed a similar service some years before for 
A Poor Girt, AN ACTRESS, 
at the request of Laura Keene. They had, 
perhaps, remembered this, but he saw nothing 
in either act but that which his duty dictated. 
Dr. Tyng vigorously seconded this remark. 
Dr. Houghton then read a letter to himself from 
a member of an eminent publishing firm in this 
city, applauding his action and regretting that 
the reverend gentleman’s sacred profession pre- 
vented him from seeing 
JOE JEFFERSON’S Lay SERMON 

in the part of Rip Van Winkle. His wrath, if 
such a term may describe the quietest expression 
of disapproval possible, was directed against the 
reference to his church as a little one, “‘when,”’ 
as the Doctor remarked, “‘it will seat one thou- 
sand persons, two to one with Mr. Sabine’s.” 


CHURCH OF THE ATONEMENT 


A Congregation Disappointed—No 
Atonement for the Holland-Burial 
Scandal. 

The pretty little Episcopal Church, on the 
corner of Madison Avenue and Twenty-eighth 
Street, “around the corner”? from Dr. Hough- 
ton’s, was well filled yesterday morning. . 
There was a considerable number of strangers 


And the Light Shines Out 99 


present, drawn thither doubtless by the expec- 
tation of hearing the parson hold forth on a 
matter that gained him 
A QUESTIONABLE NOTORIETY 

last week; but if that was their object in attend- 
ing they were entirely disappointed, for the 
preacher—the Rev. William S. Sabine—made 
no allusion whatever to his action regarding the 
funeral of the late George Holland. He took for 
his text the verse (from 1 Kings XX, 40), “‘And 
as thy servant was busy here and there, he was 
gone. And the King of Israel said unto him, so 
shall thy judgment be; thyself hast decided it”’; 
and on this he preached an orthodox sermon, 
showing what Christians may expect by minding 
their own business and looking out for the wel- 
fare of their souls. 


Editorial opinion differed from the reporter’s 
conclusion: the Rev. Mr. Sabine’s New Year ser- 
mon was construed as a hint to the public that 
it should go about its business. 


The poems that were published in the news- 
papers! 

There has come to me quite a sheaf—a chance 
gathering—small part of the poetic outburst of the 
day. 

Speaking of a poem written by Miss Anna 
Morris, published in The Sun, that newspaper says: 


100 The Little Church Around the Corner 


A copy was transmitted to the Rev. Dr. 
Houghton by the Count Joannes, in the name of 
the authoress, who was too timid from fear of 
appearing to arrogate to herself unusual merit 
in writing a theme upon which the reverend 
pastor has received hundreds from all parts of 
the country. 


The authoress received this acknowledgment: 


The Rev. Dr. Houghton begs to present his 
compliments and thanks to Miss Anna Morris 
for the copy of her poem, “God bless the Church 
around the Corner,” which was received yester- 
day. It is certainly one of the very best he has 
seen upon the subject. God bless the authoress! 


Most of them done by amateurs, metre halting, 
lines cramped for the sake of rhyme; still, no one 
can read them and remain unaware of the genuine- 
ness of the feeling that was their inspiration. 

Of the sheaf that has come my way, I think the 
best is 


Tue Littte Cuurcu Rounp tHE CoRNER 


By Tudor Horton. 


It was thought of old, when a man was cold, 
And dress’d for his last long journey, 

A parson should come to direct him home 
By clerical pow’r of attorney: 


Gnd the Light Shines Gut 101 


But one man of grace from a holy (?) place, 
One who acts as a Gospel factor, 

Could not condescend his breath to expend 
O’er the corpse of a dead play-actor. 

How could he have read all his Master said, 
And turned from a sorrowing mourner, 

With “Not in our way’? Perhaps it will pay 
“The little church round the corner.” 


A soul with the stain and the brand of Cain, 
When truss’d for the hangman’s halter, 

Is dismiss’d with grace to a holy place 
By the sons of—the Christian altar; 

But a man of worth, who has cheer’d the earth 
By promoting harmless laughter, 

Is thrust in the cold, from the sacred fold, 
With no hope in the Great Hereafter. 

But all are not lost of the Christian host, 
So we'll silence the jeering scorner, 

And honor pay one for an act well done, 
At “the little church round the corner.”’ 


“The Little Church Around the Corner”? was 
the favorite title; some of the others, “That Little 
Church,”’ “Round the Corner,” “Ye Priest and 
Ye Player,’ “The Poor Player at the Gate.” 
They told how Christ never bade “one sinner seek 
for comfort ‘round the corner’”’ nor told “the 
palsied, halt and blind” “go and find a Doctor— 
‘round the corner.’”’ 


102 The Little Church Around the Corner 


And when the Saviour’s voice shall call 
Believer and the scorner, 

May His love crown the glorious heart 
That min’stered round the corner. 


While he who shunned, unlike his Christ, 
The Publican and Sinner, 

May view the Heaven of nobler hearts, 
From just around the corner. 


Lyric celebration was not lacking. I believe a 
number of songs were composed: I have only suc- 
ceeded in tracing two, the words of both by George 
Cooper, a popular song-writer of the day.* I give 
a verse and the chorus of each. They take us back, 
out of the age of jazz, to another day, when parlor 
singing was a favorite way of “entertaining com- 


pany.’ 


To Joseph Jefferson, Esq. 
Gop Bess THE LitrLE CHURCH. 


1. God bless the little Church! Where truth 
and love abound, 
Where Charity and Peace and Christian Faith 
are found! 


* Since writing this, I have discovered two more: “ That Little Church 
Around the Corner,’’ by Alice Hawthorne, dedicated to Joseph Jefferson; 
“That Little Church Around the Corner,” words by Dexter Smith, 
music by C. A. White, dedicated to Mrs. George Holland. 


And the Light Shines Out 103 


The sorrowing and poor 
Have blest it day by day, 
And never from its door 

The Dead are spurned away! 


CHORUS: ARRANGED FOR SOPRANO, ALTO, TENOR 
AND BASS. 


God bless the little Church! 
God bless the little Church! 
Good angels fold their wings of gold 
Around the little Church! 


A parlor organ, the “vox humana”’ stop drawn 
out, and (quavering soprano, uncertain alto, 
‘authoritative tenor, throaty bass) “‘Good angels 
fold their wings of gold around the little Church!”’ 
We can almost see the tidies and the lambrequins 
and the wax flowers under the glass dome. 


Tue Littte CourcuH AROUND THE CORNER 


1. God bless the little church around the corner, 
The shrine of holy Charity and Love; 
Its doors are ever open unto sorrow, 
A blessing fall upon it from above; 
The rich and poor are equal ’neath its portals, 
And be our path in life whate’er it may, 
No heart that needed comfort in affliction 
Was ever turned uncomforted away. 


104 Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


CHORUS: | 
God bless the little church around the corner, 
The shrine of holy Charity and Love; 
Its doors are ever open unto sorrow, 
A blessing fall upon it from above! 


That song (music by D. S. Wambold) was one 
of the “‘hits”’ of the day. Wambold sang it with 
the “San Francisco Minstrels,” then sharing honors 
in the metropolis (it was the burnt-cork heyday) 
with Dan Bryant’s Minstrels. It spread to the 
stages of the “variety houses,” thence to the 
homes of the country. For a generation it was a 
popular “song for the parlor and piano.” 

A lot of old folks, their memories haunted by a 
strain of the by-gone melody, have written me, 
asking that I unearth it and print it “in full, with 
the music,” in this book of The Little Church. 


It must have been along about 1874 that the 
writer of this letter first heard of “The Little 
Church Around the Corner.” Anyhow, the 
hoop skirt and the chignon still were met with 
in nestling hamlets, and the stately bustle 
is remembered dimly as a feature of the up- 
holstery. 

It was at one of those bygone “sociables” 
where they used to sing songs and play “post 
office’? and “snap and catch ’em” and that 
delightsome old standby, “love in the dark.”’ 





5 a 


©) R: | CF expectfuly M ah St Cc Piano Song(S) 





dedicated Guitar Jong. 4. 
BY toRevg., mm HoUGH S. Inst! byTonel of 
/ : 3 * 

Geo. Cooper. ~ DS. Waypon ety 

: “Se EN Ns 

Z Lacy rpeguent: nel Sane Tamer een ms aoe Soe ent eae apres sortie oN yy Ne vy 

New York,#.L.PETERS.. E,PEILER & BRO.  J.L.PETERSACO.StLouis. 7 
599 Broadway. Pee Ge om ouret. 212 North 5% Street. 

Cancmnati, Boston, Ci Cre New Crieans 

J.J. Dobmeyer &Co White, Smith & Perry. Hine ae ae 1. . Grunewald |: 

 -, Enenrect accordinagte act of Congrens tee the pear FEEL, by bled eters tt hee Rb A te LORE A OPS. ; % 

WA Sen Rey et rescue opciones Gis i oa is aientaneti icecnere ie, OMAR i Rl AS 


This Song, Sung by Wambold in Dan Bryant’s Minstrels, Spread to the 
Variety Theatres, and from Thence to the Homes of the Nation. 
It was One of the “‘ Song Hits”’ of the ’70s 








a. 
rh 


And the Light Shines Out 105 


One of the songs they sang that night was 
about The Little Church: 


*“God bless The Little Church Around the 
Corner, 
A shrine of holy purity and love.” 


I cannot remember any more of it after fifty 
years. Maybe you can get hold of it. 


Perhaps you have noticed that in neither poem 
nor song was the church given its formal name, 
“The Church of the Transfiguration.”” No men- 
tion whatever of that name: the public had re- 
christened it, “‘The Little Church Around the 


Corner.” 


. . . The next Sabbath dawned bright and 
clear, but with a coldness in the air that chilled 
the “‘very marrow in your bones,” as our grand- 
mothers used to say. As we approached the 
supposed neighborhood of the Church of the 
Transfiguration, and being a little puzzled to 
find it, Anaximander ran away to the opposite 
corner and interviewed a policeman. 

“Can you tell me where to find the Church of 
the Transfiguration?” 

**No; never heard of it,”’ he answered, amazed. 

“Dr. Houghton’s church, then?” 


106 «=. The Little Church Around the Corner 


“Never heard of that neither.” 

“TGs a small, low, rambling church,” Anaxi- 
mander went on to explain; “has a yard in front 
of it, filled with grass and flowers—very pretty 
in summer time.” But the “city guard” con- 
tinued perverse. 

“Well, do you know where ‘the little church 
around the corner’ is?”” The policeman’s face 
brightened. 

“Oh, yes, I know where that is—Twenty- 
ninth Street and Fifth Avenue.” 

“Thank you.” 

(From a contemporary clipping, name of news- 
paper missing.) 


Of course there were “special articles’ describ- 
ing the church and its pastor; and—what so seldom 
happens—the public learned that the picture con- 
jured by its emotions, had a fit setting in reality. 


. The church, with its adjoining chapel 
and rectory, 1s more interesting from its quaint 
irregularity and air of seclusion than for any 
architectural pretensions. Indeed, it may be 
said to have no architecture at all. . . . From 
time to time, as the congregation grew in num- 
bers and wealth, additions were made by 
appending a little chapel at this end, a porch at 
that end and a wing at the side, until finally, 
the original building disappeared and gave place 


Gnd the Light Shines Cut 107 


to another equally quaint and plain. A glimmer 
of the Gothic seems to pervade the low, simple 
eaves, with here and there, in a short slender 
column or two, a shadow of the Arabesque, or 
something else; so that it is in vain to place the 
whole structure within the confines of any 
specific order of art. . . . With the row of 
trees in front, and the little churchyard between 
the buildings and the iron railing enclosing them, 
it would seem, were it not for the out-door bustle 
and life of the near avenue, much like one might 
imagine that little church wherein Tom Pinch 
was wont to play the organ near the residence 
of the architectural Pecksniff. 


(From The New York Clipper.) 


. The trees which the rector, with a wise 
foresight, set out twenty years ago, have grown 
to a goodly size, and among their branches hosts 
of English sparrows have found shelter, and in 
return for the favor shown them keep at bay the 
pest of cankerworms which once used to ruin 
the foliage. For the accommodation of these 
little pets, the rector has furnished 

A Beavtirut Fountain 
at which they perform their ablutions and slake 
their thirst. Of a bright summer’s day, when 
this fountain is sending up its showers of liquid 
diamonds, when the sun is shining, and the soft 
west wind breathing upon the trees and grass, 


108 «- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


while the twitter of the swallows and the solemn 
sound of the organ from within the open win- 
dows fills the air, a more beautiful spot can 
scarcely be imagined. This charm of rusticity 
more than makes up for any imagined amount 
of architectural grandeur, and gives to the little 
church an attractiveness peculiar to itself. 

Personally, Mr. Houghton is the very ideal of 
a pious, industrious, and efficient parish priest. 
He is of medium size, quick but not undignified 
in his movements, and in bearing and conversa- 
tion 

Every INcH THE CHRISTIAN GENTLEMAN. 

His hair and eyes are black, his features finely 
cut and expressive, his voice soft and winning. 
As a preacher he is not so much eloquent as 
instructive, while his reading and general man- 
ner of conducting worship are in the highest de- 
gree reverential and devotion-inspiring. . 
In the matter of looking after his parishioners 
individually he is unequalled for industry and 
thoroughness. . 

Ir He Has Any Fatvtt, 

it is that of too great zeal, and sometimes a soft- 
heartedness which allows him to be imposed 
upon. It was this mistaken kindness which led 
him a year ago to give an asylum in his church- 
yard to a number of stray and homeless dogs, 
who ungratefully repaid his hospitality by 
getting up a series of fearful fights in the night 


And the Light Shines Out 109 


time, one of which was graphically reported in 
The Sun. It is scarcely necessary to say that 
the nuisance was speedily abated, and that the 
church has ever since been, as it was before, the 
ornament and delight of the neighborhood. 
(From The New York Sun.) 


Dr. Houghton has been a hard-working man, 
distinguished for his labors among the poor, the 
unfortunate and the lowly. . . . Dr. Hough- 
ton attended the funeral of Holland, the actor, 
not to get fame, but simply because it has been 
his custom to labor with suffering humanity in 
all forms of wretchedness in this city. Except 
the laborers at Five Points he is better acquaint- 
ed with the sorrowing ones of New York than 
any other clergyman. A distinguished organist 
took to drink to such a degree that he was unfit 
for his position. When everybody cast him off 
Dr. Houghton took him up and tried to save 
him. For several months he took care of him 
on Saturday nights, that he might be fit to play 
on Sunday and not become a beggar. A clergy- 
man of very brilliant talents, of fine family con- 
nections, became intemperate, and was shunned 
and discarded by all. In his distress and dis- 
grace, he called on the benevolent clergyman, 
who took him in, furnished him with a com- 
fortable room in the tower of his church, gave 
him a chance to reform, and held on to him to 


110 The Little Church Around the Corner 


the last. Such a man would allow no human 
being to want for the consolation of religion 
while living, nor would he wound the feelings of 
relatives, however a man might die. 

(New York correspondence, The Boston Jour- 
nal.) 


In a letter, acknowledging a poem, Dr. Houghton 
enclosed “‘a copy of a prayer from an English 
source, which I have had printed for distribution 
among the members of my church.” 


PRAYER 


O, Almighty God, the Father and Saviour of 
all men, help us, we beseech Thee, to behave 
with Christian charity and wisdom to all that 
are in distress, poverty, or suffering. Let none 
of us come under Thy condemnation on the great 
day of judgment for want of mercy or charity 
to our brethren, who, in this world of trial, were 
hungry, or thirsty, or naked, or sick, or in prison, 
and to whom when we had the power we did not 
minister. Help us to deny ourselves, that we 
may each in our measure have to give to them 
that need; and that we may ever work with 
Thee, and for Thee, in diminishing the sorrows, 
the miseries, and the sin of this evil world, for 
the sake of Him who suffered and died for all, 
Thy blessed Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ. 
Amen. 


And the Light Shines Out 111 


A beautiful prayer, made an hundred-fold more 
beautiful by being not pulpit rhetoric but a creed of 
every-day life! 

Said the Rev. J. F. W. Ware, in a sermon: 
‘Public sentiment, roused to one of its indignant 
spasms, is just now lifting The Little Church 
Around the Corner into a passing notoriety.” 

No, Brother Ware; there was in that little church 
a spark of the divine fire—the bushel had merely 
been lifted. 


“THE KINDLY FOLK” 


He was a small-town boy; he was fifteen years 
old; foot-loose in a big city; and he went to 
the theatre. That one visit brought him an 
hysterically tearful letter from a mother who 
thought she saw her son dallying with the road to 
perdition. Thereafter, he lived sixty-two years, 
the greater number of them in “the heart of the 
theatre district,’ and never went to the theatre 
again. Yet his church became the actors’ church, 
appointed such by a spontaneous acclamation in 
which the heart, not the tongue, spoke. A unique 
parish, this of The Little Church among the stage 
folk—stretching from the Atlantic to the Pacific, 
stretching wherever the player people went wan- 
dering; their names, with few exceptions, not on 
the record of parish membership, no official ties, 
but those stronger things, the bonds of affection. 

‘““My friends, the actors—God bless them!— 
hither bring their wives for the wedding, their 
babes for the baptism, their dead for the burial; 
hither come that their sick may be visited, their 
mourners comforted, their perplexities and troubles 
to be counselled and relieved.” 

112 


“The Kindly Folk ’’ 113 


He called them, “‘the kindly folk.” 

Time and again he had to stand in his pulpit 
and exhort a congregation that included many of 
the wealthy, many of the socially elect, to open 
their purses for the sake of the needy. Time and 
again he had to tell “the kindly folk” to shut their 
purses. 

The story makes good reading. 

Let the Pharisee hearken. 


If the Rev. Mr. Sabine was right, if, prior to the 
Holland funeral, there had been a number of fu- 
nerals of actors at “‘the little church around the 
corner,” the fact had not impressed itself on the 
officiating clergyman as it had on his neighbor. 
When Dr. Houghton talked to the Herald reporter, 
just after the New Year’s service, 1871, he recalled 
only one such funeral—‘“‘a service some years 
before for a poor girl, an actress, at the request 
of Laura Keene.” 

Mrs. Keene was one of the leading actresses, in 
the 50’s and 60’s of the last century. Mention her 
name to a venerable theatre-goer :—“* Laura Keene? 
—QOh, yes; she was playing the ‘woman lead’ in 
Ford’s Theatre, Washington, when Lincoln was 
assassinated.”” Fame sometimes hangs on odd 
pegs. 

As a matter of fact, Dr. Houghton had officiated 
at least at one other such funeral. He recalled it in 
his ‘‘Forty-And-Five Years” anniversary sermon. 


114 The Little Church Around the Corner 


There was drawn to this Church of the Trans- 
figuration an English woman of rare intelligence 
and cleverness, whose life had been a life of 
sorrow and disappointment. Through a long 
time personal ministry, the remembrance of 
that sorrow was greatly soothed and the burden 
of that disappointment was well-nigh removed, 
and that was accomplished without which there 
could not have been the death of peace and of 
gladness that followed. During a long illness, 
which poverty was making the more grievous, 
she was tenderly and abundantly cared for. 

When she died she was buried by those with 
whom her lot in this country had largely been 
cast, members of the Dramatic Profession and 
Writers for the press. And these, full of sym- 
pathy and interest, were present in the rooms on 
a distant street where the Burial Office was read 
by the Rector of the Church of the Transfigura- 
tion. He well remembers the warm grasp of 
the hand and the grateful words of one and 
another of them. 


Then came the Holland funeral, with its prologue 
of ministerial bigotry, its epilogue of public indig- 
nation. 

To us, who are not of “the profession,” who, 
moreover, must look across a half-century to an- 
other social environment, it is somewhat diffi- 
cult to appreciate just what “the little church 


“The Rindlp Folk ”’ 115 


around the corner” signified to the people of the 
theatre. 

The Rev. Mr. Sabine spoke of Holland as “‘a 
play-actor.”’ In that phrase, “play-actor,” what 
an eloquent echo from the days when the strolling 
player was looked upon as a vagabond, fair game 
for grafting bailiff or ebulient village lad! The 
Rev. Mr. Sabine was far, very, very far from being 
the only one who regarded the theatre as “im- 
moral,” and theatre-folk as a Pariah crew. 

I would not be surprised to learn that this atti- 
tude toward stage people has not entirely vanished; 
that it still survives in some small towns, in some 
small minds. p 

But this is certain: the actor is still a wanderer. 
Life is lived “on the road’’—a thing of hand- 
baggage, sleeping car berths, time-tables, “‘junc- 
tion”? food counters, trunks, small-town hotels, 
boarding houses. Here today; gone—perhaps on 
“the midnight,’ perhaps in the bleak dawn, on 
“the milk train.” 


St. Paur, MInNN., 
Nov. 18, 1923. 


My peaR Mr. MacApam 

Reading this week’s issue of the Billboard, I 
notice you ask for something in regard to the 
Little Church Around the Corner. I am an old 
time actress—have been off the road for a few 
years—no pains or aches—just tired. I enclose 


116 The Little Church Around the Corner 


a writing I have had for years, hoping you will 
find it useful in writing your book. I thought it 
the grandest thing I ever read. 
With good wishes 
Maupa F. Barnarp 

45 years in the dramatic line. 

I belong to the Actors Fund. Sometimes I 
wonder if I will ever reach the home. I get so 
tired of roaming around. 


The poem she enclosed was one of that fifty-year 
old crop. Here is the last verse: 


Ah, well! God grant, when with aching feet 
We tread life’s last few paces, 
That we may hear some accents sweet 
And kiss to the end, fond faces! 
God grant that this tired flesh may rest 
(Mid many a musing mourner), 
While the sermon is preached and the rites 
are read, 
In no church where the heart of love is dead, 
And the pastor a pious prig at best. 
But in some small nook where God’s con- 
fessed— 
Some little church ’round the corner. 


The poem came to me, pasted upon a piece of 
paper, upon the back of the paper, mangled seg- 
ments of time-yellowed “‘press notices’—mute 
evidence that the old actress had rifled her scrap- 


“The Kindly Folk ”’ 117 


book, memorial tablet of a fading career, to make a 
contribution to the book of ,The Little Church. 


On New Year’s Eve, 1871, two days after the 
newspapers had published the story that told the 
difference between a Sabine and a Houghton, the 
actors in the Holiday Street Theatre, Baltimore, 
chipped in, bought a beautiful copy of the Bible, 
illustrated by Dore, and sent it as “‘a token” to 
the rector of The Little Church Around the Corner. 

In a previous chapter mention was made of that 
remarkable demonstration on January 19, 1871, 
when all the theatres in New York united in TuE 
Hoxtuanp TestimoniAu. It was for the benefit 
of the old actor’s family, but in it the public 
voiced its condemnation of Sabine, its approval of 
Houghton. 

A-top that, however, there was proposed a “‘tes- 
timonial”’ to Dr. Houghton himself. This was 
gently discouraged by the proposed beneficiary. 

To quote from the editorial page of the New 
York Evening Mail, January 23, 1871: 


“THE LITTLE CHURCH AROUND THE 
CORNER” 


An old friend, in whose judgment and taste 
we generally repose the utmost confidence, 
writes to us as follows: 

If there is any truth in the statement of the 
Boston Journal’s “Burleigh” that a testimonial 


118 The Little Church Around the Corner 


is being subscribed for the Rev. Dr. Houghton, 
I would suggest, if I were you, that it be devoted 
to carrying out a favorite idea of the Doctor’s. 

I know him and know that his church is his 
constant thought, and that he is always con- 
sidering how he shall beautify it and make it 
more perfect in its symbolism. 

For years he has had the idea of an ornamental 
gate to his church-yard, with a suitable inscrip- 
tion, and a well of water, with seats about it for 
tired and thirsty passers-by. I think he already 
has a design for it. Now, if we are going to buy 
anything for the Doctor, that, it seems to me, 
would be the thing, if he should consent. It 
would be a lasting monument to the good man’s 
charity 


The suggestion that is made in the above 
communication will undoubtedly surprise Dr. 
Houghton, and will probably call out a favorable 
response from many who have recognized his 
broad Christian charity, but we fear that it 
would be unwise to press what has been hitherto 
a remarkably spontaneous movement any fur- 
ther. Itis always well in such cases to stop just 
short of the point where an enthusiastic public 
sentiment finds itself somewhat exhausted and 
goaded on to effort by the mere sense of duty. 
And as to this particular case, we were a few 
nights since assured by one of Dr. Houghton’s old- 


“Che Kindly Folk” 119 


est and most devoted parishioners that Dr. H. 
had been put in a somewhat awkward and embar- 
rassing position by the enthusiastic demonstra- 
tions of his admirers, so that further and more 
marked tokens of good-will would be question- 
able favors. Dr. Houghton is a modest, quiet 
and conscientious clergyman, who never dreamed 
that what seemed to him the simple perform- 
ance of a plain duty would make him the sub- 
ject of universal newspaper comment and the 
special admiration of the entire fraternity of 
actors. . . . We believe that if his wishes 
were consulted no further testimonials would be 
proposed. He already knows that his name has 
become a “household word”’ in every part of the 
land, and that it is everywhere regarded as 
synonymous with a broad and tolerant charity. 
Further demonstrations would only provoke the 
comments of the censorious and annoy a modest 
and retiring Christian gentleman. 


But Chicago, breezy, big-hearted Chicago, was 
not to be discouraged. It had something to say to 
Dr. Houghton. It said it. 


CROSBY’S OPERA HOUSE 


GRAND TESTIMONIAL 


TO BE GIVEN TO THE 


‘ Little Church Round the Corner,’ 
THURSDAY AFTERNOON, FEB. 16, AT 2:30. 


120 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Let the reporter of the Chicago Tribune tell 
what happened. Unfortunately, space compels 
deletion. 


. . Chicago has witnessed a great many 
crowds in places of public entertainment, but 
nothing to compare with that of yesterday. 
The hour fixed for the commencement of the 
performance was half past 2, but before 1 o’clock 
the crowd began to gather. From that time un- 
til 3 o’clock a living tide of humanity swept 
down Washington Street from every direction— 
men, women and children—blocking up the 
walks to State Street in one direction, and 
Dearborn in the other. All this time the en- 
trance to the Opera House, and the broad, 
generous staircases, were packed with a mass of 
people so dense that locomotion became well- 
nigh impossible. Hats were smashed, dresses 
torn, articles of clothing dropped and trampled 
under foot, children crying, resolute ones push- 
ing on, faint-hearted ones turning and vainly 
trying to get out again, some ladies shrieking, 
mothers and children separating and crying out 
for each other, policemen shouting and women 
fainting. . . . To add to the confusion, hun- 
dreds of people gained the box-office floor without 
tickets, and when it became evident that the 
house could not even possibly hold those who 
had purchased tickets, the box office was closed, 


RY 16, 1871. 


AMUSEMENTS. 


PAPE RN Oe Owe eae 


~“CROSBY’S OPERA HOUSE. | 


GRAND TESTIMONIAL 


TO BE GIVEN TO THE 


‘Little Church Round the Comer,’ 


Tharsday Afternoon, Feb. 16, at 2:39, 
Under the direction of 


dos. F. Wheelock, J. W. Blaisdoll, 
John W. Jennings, and Owen 
Fawcett. 

TICASUTCh:... cece cecsseccscesscseeeuG. W. GARRISON 

The Opera Houee has been kindly tendered by Mr. 
ALBERT CROSBY. 

Tho following papers bave given the gratuitons use 
of their columns, viz.: Chicago Times, Ohicago Trib- 
une, Republicen, Evening Post, Rvening Mall, and 
the Evening Journal 

Order of performance, commencing at 3:80 precisely. 

1. Ovérture......cccecccscccccceccescee rand Orchestra 
2. ** Little ( burch Round the Oorner,"' 
©. 8. Fredericks, J. R. Kemble, V. A. 
tram, J.J. Kelly, ana J. F. Dunnie, 
DORMER sc ctrstancdscsdéecececacseésctecses CO. Huoneman 
3. Prof. Hazelroayer and hia trained birds. 
4. ** Let Me Like a Sotdier Fall,”............J0. Bran tiai 
Leader ore coco cecs e@eoere Ba Gl aL Aas a Mullaly 
6&. Tragic revival........ Wm. Rice and J. K. Campbell 
6. Clodoche dance, 
Messrs. Hogan, Hughee, Rogers. and Martin 
7. Kugeno (ala Nillson), song, ’bhou Art eo Nuar and 
Yet eo Fer.’ 
8. Song and dance, ‘‘ Let Me Be.” 
arse. and Powers 
















Ber- 


Na ooo ee tesrye~"~—_—=_— 





AMUSEMENTS. 


POLO * 








To conclude with Buckstone’s comedy of 
MARRIED LIE E, 


With the following original and powerful ooh ela 
of characters: 


AOT 1. Museum company, by the kind atetalesion 
of Frank E. Alken. 
Stage Maneegcr......... seeseccédcdedecvaccceck ks MmOUEL 


AUT 2. McVicker’s company, by kind permission of 
of Mesers. McVickcr & Myers, 
Stsge Manager......... deadcedsisess ececckiy La SHGIHO 

AUT 8. Globe Theatre company, by kind permission 
of D. R. Allen & Co. 
Stage Manager.........- osececeee DO. A. Wilson 

General admiasion, 30 ‘conta: reserved seats, St. 

Tickets for sale at Koot & Cady’s music atore, West- 
ern News Agency, and at the Opcra House. 

Box sheet open atthe Opera House, Monday, Feb. 
18, at 10 a. m. 


CROSBY OPERA HOUSE. 


GRAND GALA MATINEE, 


Saturday, Feb. 18, 1871, 
BY THF 


GERMAN OPERA, 
FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE 


Little Church Round the Corner. 


THE ENTIRE OPERA OF 


DAME BLANCHE. 


Theodore Hahclmannin his great Scotch character 
of George Brown, in which part he will introduce his 
celebrated song of *‘ Robin Adair.” 


BETWEEN THE AOTS, 


GRAND MUSICAL OLIOS, 





9 BMiUTTON TRIAL 


Lawyer J. HeRIDg..s..-svssseeeeveseseeeegi ie Bob Hart In English, Italian, and German. 
Bent see es aS voccecs cas cee ek gees Billy Manning 

Old Snari.. Fite eb santi wea tdacdecacks Ben Cotton Secured Seats, $1 Only. 

Andee Bannion.. eae deletes AFR RRTALT ARS R. Kemble Qawbe mam mam he aneyred at Raw RAan 





After Pharisee Sabine Lifted the Bushel 


In the early Autumn of the same year, Chicago was devastated by ‘the great fire.” Said Dr. Houghton, 
from his pulpit: ‘I would, brethren, that on this morning provision might here be made for 
returning to Chicago as much at least as was placed in my hands in February last.”’ 


IT WAS. 

























‘ aibeniebe wan hi ain, presence te Raton hr) 
* q y 


» 
bea ine ‘ ; 
ey 2 
' Re ¥. 4 ee! 44 ae py A Mi he 
: ? eit > hoe 
whi ‘ » ohio i 
§ . a * 
J - ; 
lod { 
i a es ‘ : ve ‘ 
a \ bin VO 
“ t x y j A : } 
‘ } i ‘ 
DEAS Mraya 7 Q : 
Py Reh 
or e " A Fi 
} j ‘ ex 148 
sa , iy r) ‘ 
ho ra ‘yh 4 " ant 
- ? j vot iM ; 
ay ; AP ED 


Metre tip ih doh sunt 


ait casa, ath RET Rasy.) a 
vi ny | ities 

oi Bri at pit a at . sa Kyi} - pes we no 44% 

Men rE Ratt rm ear 


° Re ne bebe o> eel 


' ; +o Ly mba } hint nt “weed tov mil 


, ix as omy. eee kage ww cores 
T gg ghee ae 
roan mn terme hat wah, ane 
+ fas 
wy 
1 A ia et pre 7 
: } it ‘ n 
egy 
. ; , 4s hi se 
ay 
f by , Y i} ; ‘ 
by: eae 7 | vs it aa 


oie Why oh ane n> 


4 * ; ye mw | st ata A Tey ise y } dial ay as ad ‘ 


vi. oat | f ; - 
the rh. Vt Ae Loo | lees A et ean ine? len m. ign 


. (th | rie pe rn hy ‘ae oe yi aleadl 


‘> ree D. 
yy i¢ : ' 4) y ig re ev re hh 44 yan : 4299 ik \ ane Oe he yet i +8 ys 


; MeN % en o* : ’ : , at ne ah jon a nai: + 


ge 


prree : iy 5 : bay 5" yy Wke: ¥ vA mit Khe 2) haa rah, th id BG, ay fh? ‘| Cen i 
ee By ee oy R. F hes . Rie oy @! Mr (de ap Glee aie a 4 Pee ne we } 






| op /t Ps k 1ieHt ad Se th a 2 aptity ia % (a ih te rn al i 
¥ VES hs hy hc ate ee 
iv gy Pag fen A ia 


“The Kindly Folk ’”’ 121 


thus leaving a crowd who must turn and attempt 
to go back. The result was that for a long time 
it made a perfect blockade, neither party being 
able to make any progress. The scene around 
the box office became very exciting. Men held 
up their money in the air, and offered ten, 
twenty, twenty-five, fifty, and even as high as 
seventy-five dollars to the doorkeeper to let 
them go through. . . . The pressure upon the 
box office at last became so great that the door 
was forced open, whereupon Mr. Garrison, the 
Treasurer, took his funds and, escaping through 
the window, made his way by the shortest route 
to the-bank and deposited them—thus present- 
ing to the astonished world the sight of a church, 
and that church nothing but a little church 
"round the corner, with a deposit in a bank 
clear of all encumbrances and subject to its 
order. 

. . . Every part of the auditorium was 
densely packed, hundreds of ladies standing up 
and sitting upon the aisle floors, while men stood 
on the window-sills, clung to stair-railings, and 
hung themselves up generally as wall ornaments. 
If there had been some clothes-lines stretched 
across the auditorium, a few more might have 
been accommodated. . . . There must have 
been over 3,000 people present, as the receipts 
foot up the splendid total of $2,056.10, at fifty 
cents’ admission, and one dollar for reserved 


122 The Little Church Around the Corner 


seats. Out of this sum, one hundred and fifty 
dollars will have to be deducted for expenses, 
leaving the Little Church, in round numbers, 
about $1,900. 


The committee representing “‘the dramatic and 
minstrel profession of Chicago,” (it was not the 
managers, but “the profession” that organized 
the testimonial) in forwarding to Dr. Houghton a 
draft for $1,907.10, wrote: 


. . . We wish it were a larger amount; 
indeed, there is no limit to our good wishes for 
yourself and your church; but such as it is, we 
tender it with honest pride, as an evidence of 
the manner in which Chicago speaks her senti- 
ments when thoroughly aroused. The money is 
placed at your disposal, to be devoted as you 
may deem proper, for the furtherance of that 
exquisite commingling of Christianity and hu- 
man kindness which our Divine Master taught, 
and of which we regard you as a noble exponent. 


Bread cast upon the waters! but the days were 
not many, when it was returned. | 

In the early Autumn, Chicago was devastated 
by “‘the great fire.”’ 

The Sunday following that catastrophe, Dr. 
Houghton announced: 

“The offerings this morning, brethren, will be 


“The Kindly Folk ”’ 123 


appropriated for the relief of those now suffering 
from the recent visitation of Divine Providence 
in the city of Chicago. It is not the intention to 
make any appeal in their behalf. An appeal surely 
is not necessary, and the impression which has al- 
ready been made could not be deepened. But 
there is one circumstance which I desire to recall 


>) 


He spoke of “the kindly folk”? of Chicago who 
had “stretched forth their open hand with a gen- 
erous gift. It was the desire of those who sent it 
that this money should be used for the benefit, in 
some way, of this, our Church. I constituted it, 
however, a Charity Fund, and laid it out, in be- 
half of those from whom it came, in meeting some 
of the manifold applications which are here con- 
tinually made by the sick and the needy. A por- 
tion of it went abroad to aid in relieving the famine- 
stricken multitudes in France. Other portions 
were distributed to a number of impoverished 
parishes in various States of the Union. There 
is a baptismal font in Ohio; there is a Sunday 
school library in Virginia; there are gas-fixtures in 
South Carolina which were therewith provided. 
And here in New York the remainder was used for 
the Children’s Hospital; for St. Barnabas House; 
in providing shelter and food and clothing for the 
poor and the sick; and in burying the dead. In- 
directly our own church failed not to be benefited, 
inasmuch as its insufficient income had else been 


124 The Little Church Around the Corner 


taxed to meet some of these applications—it being 
almost impossible within these doors to send any 
empty away who come to ask an alms in the Name 
of the Lord. I would, brethren, that on this morn- 
ing provision might here be made for returning to 
Chicago as much at least as was placed in my hands 
in February last.” 

It was. 

The money was sent to Chicago with the request 
that it be used to relieve the teehee NE necessities 
of people of the stage. 

On a Sunday morning, in the erect of 1882, 
Dr. Houghton went to his Sacristy, to prepare for 
the seven o’clock Celebration. He discovered 
that thieves had entered the church during the 
night, and carried off five sacred vessels: a large 
silver flagon, the gift of a mother, in memory of 
her daughter; a silver, gold-lined chalice, the gift 
of a daughter, in memory of her mother, the latter’s 
wedding ring being imbedded in the knob; a silver, 
gold-lined paten and a silver, gold-lined box for 
holding the sacramental breads, both memorials 
to a mother; and a small paten used in giving 
communion to the sick, the gift of a woman em- 
ployed by The Little Church to visit among the 
poor. 

The newspapers printed an account of the bur- 
glary. Immediately, one of the theatrical pub- 
lications proposed a subscription to cover the 
loss. 


“The Kindly Folk ”’ 125 


To a parishioner, an able and willing lieutenant 
in time of any need, Dr. Houghton wrote: 


I greatly appreciate everybody’s kindness, 
but anything of the sort proposed would greatly 
distress me. There is no reason in the world why 
anything should be done by anybody as regards 
the silver. 

If my good theatrical friends will let me serve 
them a great deal more while there is time; send 
for me when sick, and hold me in the same kind 
regard that they do now, I do not want any- 
thing more. 

Will you kindly see our good Pend Mr. 
[the editor of the theatrical publication] and 
delicately put the matter before him. I cannot 
think anything of the sort is seriously contem- 
plated. I should deprecate it so much, and it 
would distress me beyond measure. 





In his Forty-fourth Anniversary sermon, Dr. 
Houghton stated that the year’s disbursements 
for charities had been very large, exceeding the 
income appropriated for the purpose; that there 
was a deficit in the church treasury of $2,300, 
which sum included a balance of $1,000 due the 
Rector. The mention of that “balance of $1,000,” 
was, I feel quite sure, thrown in, as a thistle, to 
arouse lethargic church members. 


126 «=. The Little Church Around the Corner 


This insufficiency of the income for the year 
was due to the fact that while there had been 
no lessening of the charities and of the work of 
the Church there had been the usual failure on 
the part of many who avail themselves of the 
ministrations of the Church to make any or any 
adequate return for those ministrations, not- 
withstanding their abundant ability. 

Those who have not the ability to make re- 
turn are always most welcome to those minis- 
trations without return—except that of their 
love and prayers. 

(From a letter, written a few months later, 
thanking “‘my friends of the dramatic profes- 
sion.” 


An actor, who heard the sermon that Sunday 
morning, wrote to the Dramatic News, suggesting 
that “‘the profession come to the aid of the church 
and raise the necessary money to pay off its debts.”’ 
There was some talk of a benefit performance, but 
first an appeal for contributions was made direct 
to “the profession ”’ itself. 


. . Of course, the regular parishioners of 
ithe Giaoh of the Transfiguration can easily 
make up that small amount. Several of them 
could give a check for it and never miss the bene- 
faction. But the theatrical and musical pro- 


“The Kindly Folk ”’ 127 


fessions are especially the parishioners of Dr. 
Houghton. To him they go in all their troubles. 
He marries them; he baptizes their children; he 
buries them. And we may add confidently 
that there would be no deficit in the treasury 
of the Church if he did not so zealously devote 
himself to this good work. Church members 
are the most prejudiced persons in the world, 
and many of the members of the Little Church 
Around the Corner have protested against the 
use of the sacred edifice for professional ceremon- 
ials and the attentions paid by the Rector to 
actors and actresses who are not communicants. 

. . Theconstant ministrations of Dr. Hough- 
ton to professionals are not recorded in the 
newspapers, but by the angels, though they 
deserve no less praise. 

Before sunset the actors and actresses of New 
York should send a message to Dr. Houghton 
pledging themselves to raise by Nov. 1, the 
$2,300 for which he asks, and to make it a round 
$5,000, as a testimonial of their love for him 
personally, and their respect for the church 
which he represents. . 

. . . Professionals owe an infinite debt of 
gratitude and love to Dr. Houghton and the 
Little Church Around the Corner, and here is 
their golden opportunity to pay off $2,300 worth 
of it with compound interest. 


(From The Spirit Of The Times.) 


128 «- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


This Forty-fourth Anniversary sermon, as was 
often done with those yearly addresses, was printed 
as a pamphlet, and distributed among the parish- 
ioners. A copy reached The Sun, and provoked 
an editorial. 


. . . The Church of the Transfiguration is 
endeared as the “Little Church Around the 
Corner”’ to the theatrical profession particularly, 
and generally to everybody to whom the sub- 
lime principles of Christianity appeal with the 
force which they must always exert in the 
world. 

Dr. Houghton, its rector, is a clergyman to 
whom the heavily laden go with an instinctive 
confidence in his obedience to that pure and 
beautiful law. We are told that he confesses 
more sinners, and they are the worst sinners, 
than any priest in New York, the Roman 
Catholic priesthood excepted. In the Episcopal 
Church he is known as the strictest of Church- 
men. Nothing can change him from his con- 
victions. But in his humanity Dr. Houghton 
has no restrictions. . . . There is no place 
so vile that he will not go to it as a min- 
ister of religion, and there is no outcast so 
abandoned that his soul does not see in him 
ground fit for the cultivation of a rich spiritual 
crop. 

We are surprised, therefore, when we read this 


“Che Kindlp Folk ”’ 129 


circular, so modest and so self-effacing, from 
which it appears that this clergyman is hampered 
in his efforts by a small deficiency of pecuniary 
means. For forty-four years, he tells us, he has 
been conducting services at the Church of the 
Transfiguration, and he makes grateful acknowl- 
edgment of what seem to be petty gifts for its 
continuance and enrichment, petty considering 
the great benefit his ministrations have bestowed. 


It is a shame to the public that this good man 
has been compelled to issue such a circular. 
Twenty-three hundred dollars! Give him 
twenty-three thousand! 


Dr. Houghton was in an embarrassing position: 


the statement that there was a deficit in the church 


treasury, was meant only for the ear of the congre- 
gation, its publicity was unexpected; he did not 


want a “‘benefit,” nor the solicitation of contribu- 


tions; but to check the activities of the kindly 


inclined is a delicate task. 


To the editor of the Dramatic Mirror he 


wrote: 


1 East 29” STREET 
Oct. 19, 1892. 


My pEeAaR Mr. FIsKe: 


You are quite right in thinking and saying 
that I thoroughly deprecate the solicitation, on 


130 «©The Little Church Around the Corner 


the part of any one, of money for the Church of 
the Transfiguration. 

I never make personal appeals myself to my 
parishioners or to any one else, and certainly 
do not wish any one to make such appeals for 
me. They would be thoroughly distasteful to 
me. 

Voluntary contributions, made in the ordinary 
way, are quite another thing. 

Yours very sincerely 
G. H. Hovenron. 


The mail delivered at the Rectory in East 
Twenty-ninth Street, increased in volume; begging 
letters went into temporary eclipse. “Very many 
and touching were the letters that came,” said Dr. 
Houghton from his pulpit, making public acknowl- 
edgment to the “generous souls of these profes- 
sions, the dramatic and the press.”’ He quoted 
one letter. 


LancHamM Hore, Boston 
Oct. 27”, 1892. 


My pear Dr. Hovcuton: 

I have heard that the Church of the Trans- 
figuration is in some financial difficulty, and the 
enclosed check for two hundred and fifty dollars 
is a little contribution made up by my sons, 
George, Edwin and Joseph, and myself. While 


“The Kindly Folk ”’ 131 


I regret the sum is not larger, I hope it will be 
accepted with our love and best wishes. 
Sincerely yours, 
CATHERINE HOLLAND. 


The fund raised by the Dramatic News amounted 
to over $3,300, “the contributions coming from 
many of the travelling companies in all parts of 
the United States, as well as from the actors and 
actresses in New York.” 


On Tuesday morning, December 4, at seven 
o'clock, I placed the gift of my friends of the 
dramatic profession upon the altar in their name 
and behalf, invoking the divine blessing upon 
each one who had any part in the matter. 

My friends have given more than the sum 
named in the notice, but not more than shall be 
well used for the glory of God and the good of 
our fellows. So may God vouchsafe to them in 
the last day His mercy and blessing more 
abundantly than they can ask or think. 


It would be interesting if someone, acquainted 
with the theatrical names of the ’70s and ’80s, 
could go over the old church records, to the end 
that we might know the actors and actresses who 
sought The Little Church in the hour of their 
happiness, those who were borne there by mourning 
comrades. 


132 The Little Church Around the Corner 


I have only a few isolated clippings. Their 
value on this topic is chiefly in what they tell 
indirectly. 

Mark Smith, a popular comedian, died abroad in 
1874. Just before the vessel bearing his body 
arrived in New York, a memorial meeting was 


held at Booth’s Theatre. 


. Everything happy that was said was 
received with demonstrative recognition. But 
not until the Rev. Mr. Houghton’s letter was 
read did the feeling of the audience reach its 
acme. When Mr. Wallack pronounced the words 
“pastor of our little church around the corner,”’ 
thunders of applause broke forth. The letter 
was one of condolence with the profession at the 
loss they had sustained; and it contained a 
clipping in poetry, which Mr. Wallack requested 
Mr. Clark to read. The poem was one most 
apposite to the occasion, and the reading height- 
ened its effect. 

The Chair suggested that the Executive Com- 
mittee should exercise their own discretion in 
making the necessary arrangements for the 
reception of Mark Smith’s remains; “‘and,”’ said 
he, “I do not think I need further suggest that 
it would please us all to have the body of our 
friend and brother buried from our beloved 
‘Little Church Around the Corner.’”’ 

After the applause that greeted this sentiment 





HARRY MONTAGUE 





AS “‘CAPTAIN MOLYNEUX” 
IN ‘THE SHAUGHRAUN’”’ 


aal AN! 
Ser emt 


MEMORIAL WINDOW 


The Montague Memorial Window in The Little Church Around the Corner 


The man, and one of his Characterizations 





“The Kindly Folk ”’ 133 


had subsided, the Chairman declared the meet- 
ing adjourned. 


In its account of the funeral, The Times spoke 
of The Little Church as one “which has become so 
noted in the history of theatrical funerals.”’ 

This was in October, 1874, less than four years 
after the funeral of George Holland! 

Edwin Booth, Lester Wallack, Joseph Jefferson, 
Harry Montague—some of the actors who attended 
worship in The Little Church. 

When Montague died, it was suggested that as a 
memorial, ‘“‘a statue bust”’ be placed in the lobby 
of Wallack’s Theatre. To “the profession” of 
that day, Wallack’s Theatre was one of the fixed, 
immutable things of Manhattan Island. But its 
sun dimmed—Wallack’s is a thing of the past— 
gone. Fortunately, its lobby was not chosen as 
Montague’s Valhalla. Instead, a memorial win- 
dow was placed in The Little Church. It is directly 
opposite the pew which he used to occupy. It 
represents a pilgrim, with his staff and scallop 
shell. Upon a brass plate below are inscribed the 
actor’s name, the date of his death, and the words: 


If I ask Him to receive me will He say me nay? 
Not till Earth and not till Heaven pass away. 


A page torn out of what, in our school days, 
we called a “composition book.” The paper is 


134 The Little Church Around the Corner 


creased, showing that it had been folded, as school 
children fold their “notes.” Written in pencil: 


HaRRIGANS THEATRE 
35” st & 6” AvE. 
Jan 7”, 1891 


Rev. Dr Hovucuton 

Dear Sir 

We will bring the remains of our Dear departed 

Brother, the late Chas. T. White. to our beloved 

little church Around the corner Thursday be- 

tween 12 & 1 OClock, please send the bill to Mr. 
Edward Harrigan 

Yours very Respcty 

Harry A. FIsHER 

Stage Manager 

JOHN WILD 


In its simplicity, its informality, eloquent token 
that Dr. Houghton was indeed the spiritual father 
of the stage folk. 

An actor urged him to attend a performance. 

**If you were in trouble, sick or on your death- 
bed, where would you expect that I should be 
found—in the play house, or here, in my appointed 
place, about my Master’s business?” 


SR BIN CG Rieger 
pour TE LEG 


De2a, dey 
Wa arte bring Che permacnd of or 
Le Z retha, Che ate Chas 
Y While Le ot bel Lh hired 
Et Prr.6 Cami Karregon— 
fours wey Kaprg 
flany A Patten 
Slege Vromager. 
Auth 


A Note to Dr. Houghton 


Written in pencil, upon a page torn out of what, in our school days, we called a “composition book”; the paper creased, showing that 
it had been folded as school children fold their ‘‘notes” 





of 


, 


z 
, 
3 
a 
cath 
ae 
hte 
pul ee 


Sit weet 


Ae - ‘i; eee cal ae Ai dia 


ay. We. "iat gi 
a 


tip” 


i 


j 


Pr Peat, “g Au 7 a pennant 


t 


2 + aR Mi it oat Ati Mey uit 












hee ‘aed Lely rey ‘ 








‘ 


oF ae " 





24-CARAT CHRISTIANITY 


IF a man wants bread, he goes, without question, 
without misgiving, to a bakery. If he wants 
kindliness, charity, consolation, encouragement, 
spiritual help, it would seem that he should go, 
equally without question, without misgiving, to a 
church. The greater his need, the greater should 
be his confidence that that need will be replenished. 


And it came to pass, as Jesus sat at meat in 
the house, behold, many publicans and sinners 
came and sat down with him and his disciples. 

And when the Pharisees saw 11, they said unto 
his disciples, Why eateth your master with publi- 
cans and sinners ? 

But when Jesus heard taHat, he said unto them, 
They that be whole need not a physician, but 
they that are sick. 


To one who stands upon the sidelines of the 
religious field, it is an illuminating commentary 
upon the Christianity of the churches, that the 
Holland incident (the Christian burial of an actor 
whose body had been refused Christian burial in 
another church) should have served to publish to 

135 


136 The Little Church Around the Corner 


the world that there was to be found in The Little 
Church Around the Corner what should, as a 
matter of course, be found in every church. 


That incident drew toward the Church of the 
Transfiguration a world of kindly, tender feeling; 
and it opened wide for personal ministration and 
usefulness such a door as few of you may imagine. 
It convinced many a one who had known nothing 
of the Church—not this Church of the Trans- 
figuration in particular, but the Church in 
general—and her Clergy, many a most wretched | 
outcast, that hither he or she could come, and 
find a heart, a hand and an ear ever open, and a 
Priest’s lips that could keep knowledge—could 
keep to themselves, as in honor and duty bound 
the knowledge confided to him. 

From the Prison and the Gambling house and 
the house of Ill-repute, the message or the mes- 
senger has hither come that might not have else- 
where gone. God’s blessing has rested upon 
this our Parish and Church by reason of the 
effort made to make the most of the greater 
opportunity thus offered for ministering to those 
who had need. 

(From the Thirty-ninth Anniversary Sermon.) 


Like a physician to the body, this physician to 
the soul had a night bell and a speaking tube. At 
midnight, at dawn, at any hour that the call might 
come to minister to the dying, he went without 


24-Carat Christianity 137 


hesitancy into the resorts of the old ‘‘ Tenderloin,” 
then at its most lurid period. 

Deaths in gambling houses are usually those of 
violence—suicide, or a hasty knife or revolver. 
What a picture!—that little group of men suddenly 
checked in their games of chance, sobered, solemn, 
as they watch that final “cashing in’”—the dying 
man—the kneeling priest—““O Almighty God, we 
humbly commend the soul of this thy servant, our 
dear brother, into thy hands.” 

Even grimmer contrast, when Death visited the 
Daughters of Joy! 


I can never forget the almost despairing cry 
of a dying woman, which I heard many, many 
years ago in a house of ill-repute. She was a 
member of the Church, had been brought up in 
the Church, was at one time a prominent mem- 
ber of a Church choir, had been married, was the 
mother of two children, and was now the keeper 
of this house, and her daughter an inmate of it. 

It was long past midnight when I had been 
called to her. As I stood by her dying bed— 
she died very soon after I came to her—she cried 
out so piteously, so almost despairingly: “Oh, 
my Saviour, my Saviour, do not, do not forget 
me now that I am dying, though I have forgotten 
Thee so many, many years!”’ 

I buried her here, in the chapel end—the west 
end of the Church—the inmates of the house 


138 The Little Church Around the Corner 


forming the congregation, and the daughter hav- 
ing promised me that she would not return to 
her former life. 


In the midst of pestilence, Dr. Houghton held 
the head of the pestilence-smitten for the receiving 
of the Sacrament. 

His seven-day-a-week creed: “In the personal 
ministry of mercy and blessing, no sin, no degrada- 
tion, no sickness, no possible peril, should be a 
barrier to that ministry.” 

There is a phrase in the passage quoted from the 
Thirty-ninth Anniversary Sermon, that should 
have been italicized: The outcast could go to The 
Little Church “‘and find a heart, a hand and an ear 
ever open.” It is to that “open hand” that I want 
to draw attention. It didn’t hold a tract: it held, 
sometimes money, sometimes clothing; a hand that 
was ever-ready to hold a pen and write letters to 
the relatives of “‘black sheep,” to prison officials, 
to Governors who had the power of pardon, to 
men who might give employment; a hand intimate- 
ly related to a head that was ever-ready to think 
out plans for material betterment, intimately 
related to a pair of legs that were ever-ready to 
travel miles if that travelling might be of benefit 
to a brother-man. 

Strict theologian, High Churchman, a man to 
whom God and His Heaven were the imminent 
facts of life, overshadowing all else; but one who, 


24-Carat Christianity 139 


in his efforts to help the down-and-outer, never 
forgot that man has a stomach. He did not feel 
his duty done if he told the outcast of “the pearly 
gates’’; he tried to open the door to a job. _-Prac- 
tical humanitarian—faithful follower of the Man 
of Galilee! 

“‘T pity the man who has never been taken in,”’ 
he once said to a friend. 

Most of us are willing to take the chance of 
snapping our purse in the face of Poverty, lest we 
be taken in by a faker. Dr. Houghton played the 
odds the other way about. Very likely his policy 
is unsuited for the guidance of the layman who 
lives in a world where fakery abounds, where the 
faker must be discouraged; but a policy that is 
admirable in one who is the apostle of Him who 
taught that if a man takes your coat, give him 
also your cloak, an apostle whose mission on earth 
is the saving of souls for the harvest of heaven. 


State PRISON, 
TrenTON, N. J. 
April 18, 1873. 


REVEREND AND DEarR SIR 

I take the pen to write these lines to you with 
a broken heart and am afraid that I am almost 
too vile of addressing you, but if there is a place 
on earth, where I would like to kneel down 
before my God, next before my old mother’s 
knees, it would be in that little Church of which 
you are the pastor. 


140 The Little Church Around the Corner 


All my friends live in Germany, I am alone in 
this Country and last Monday was sentenced 
to six years State Prison in Trenton. 

I do not wish you to think that I am a man 
whose life has been habitually given to the 
breaking of the law. Misfortune first in busi- 
ness and finally to keep up the appearance of a 
gentleman a little while longer and the insane 
desire to live in fashionable society has been my 
ruin.—I did fall.—Personally I have not the 
pleasure of being known to you, but often I have 
been in your Church knowing that my life must 
lead to ruin, communing with God when the 
organ so beautiful was playing, have often on a 
Sunday made up my mind to go and see you and 
ask you to save me, shame and fear has pre- 
vented me from doing so. 

As I can not believe and do not hope that I 
shall survive this ordeal, as my health is but 
poor, as I had none to whom I could fly, I have 
come to you, will you write me a letter in which 
you give me a few words of consolation, and one 
request I have more, it will come sooner or later 
at the moment of Death will you send for me 
my last message to my old, old parents and 
break it gently to them, it would be a consola- 
tion to me to know that there is one heart this 
side of the ocean who understands me, and I 
know you will understand me. 

Father and mother both are very aged, the 


24-Carat Christianity 141 


tears my darling old mother will weep, if she 
hears of this, will leave their traces forever upon 
the heart from which they flow. My old papa 
has studied Theology, and now is the Director 
of a College pious beautiful old folks they 
are. 

The fear that they will go to the grave with the 
cruel thought, that him they loved best has 
been lost to them forever is almost unbearable, 
but He who shapes all our destinies will be near 
me and them. I have no family. Today I have 
been brought to Trenton, the last times I shall 
see a flower, from now unto death, nothing but 
shame and misery, never to see once one face 
that has been dear to me, and as the load of my 
shoulders is so heavy, as all night long I have 
been thinking of the Little Church Around the 
Corner, I could not help writing to you, I have 
all night been thinking of the words how true: 
Of all sad words from tongue or pen, the saddest 
are these, it might have been. If I taken too 
much liberty pardon me, and Sunday if a thought 
of me should cross your mind, remember me 
before Him who sees in our hearts. 

With sentiments of highest regards 

Respectfully 
JOHN NEMO 


(Here, as in all other letters quoted in this 
chapter, I use a fictitious name.) 


142 The Little Church Around the Corner 


To me, the letter does not ring true. Perhaps it 
did not ring true to Dr. Houghton. But 

The return mail carried an answer. There was a 
trip to Trenton; a talk between convict and clergy- 
man. Then a letter went from the Rectory in 
Twenty-ningh Street, to the home in Germany. 
It brought this answer: 





46 GARTNERSTRASSE, ..., 


Rev. Dr. HoucHton 
DEAR SIR, 


I received your lines in due season and am 
full of gratitude toward you for your kind 
interest, you take in our trial. I am pleased to 
hear that my brother gives satisfaction by his 
conduct. In his letters I miss the confession of 
his sins and a contrite heart and it is my fervent 
wish that his lamentations are not the result of 
his present imprisonment but the repentance 
for his past sinful life. In case you should 
succeed by your influence to get my brother’s 
pardon, my Papa wishes you to know that my 
brother is not to return to Europe, he has no 
prospect for a future career here; if his leaving 
America is the condition for his pardon, we 
wish him to go on board of a ship and work for 
his passage to another part of the World of the 
South of America. If still allowed to him, it is 
our wish he goes to the far West of America 


24-Carat Christianity 143 


and seeks his livelihood by his hands’ work, but 
away from New York or the large cities at any 
rate. My Papa is willing to send to you money 
to the amount of $40, of which you will kindly 
dispose for your own expenses, you have had; 
travelling expenses to send my brother away or 
the most necessary wants he may have. We 
did the very same some years ago, but against 
our will he staid near New York and continued 
his sinful life. Years full of sorrows about my 
brother, sad experiences by his want of diligence, 
energy and honesty, make us write this, dear Sir, 
don’t judge us hard; much love, he has experi- 
enced, much forgiveness was granted him, our 
prayers is the only help we may offer him still. 

Will you most kindly write me again, when 
you wish to have the money sent, we are thank- 
ful for the decision you take for the future career 
of my poor, lonely brother. It is a great com- 
fort for us to know, that he stands under your 
influence. Praying God that He may reward 
you for what you do for us, and that it might 
become a real blessing for John, I am, dear Sir, 

Yours very sincerely 
Emity Nemo. 


A black sheep who had exhausted the hope of 
those whom he had truthfully described as “pious 
beautiful old folks.” But— 

As long as those penitentiary walls held him, he 


144 The Little Church Around the Corner 


had an occasional visitor. When liberation came, 
he went, as his visitor had told him to go, “right 
straight to the Rectory door in Twenty-ninth 
Street.”> Employment was found for him, and he 
was asked to “drop in now and then for a little 
talk.” A while and the visits stopped. The 
absence lengthened into weeks. Then a letter 
came from him—he was in Sing Sing. New crimes 
had landed him there. The letter brought his assur- 
ance that his greatest sorrow was his failure to keep 
the promises made to Dr. Houghton, and his fear 
that Dr. Houghton would now desert him. But 

That letter brought him the old visitor. The 
convict was naturally of a delicate constitution. 
The new stretch of penitentiary life sapped his 
small stock of strength. Not many months and 
it became apparent that he had only a short time 
to live. Dr. Houghton was anxious that the end 
should come outside prison walls: he drew up a 
petition to the Governor, had it signed by many 
to whom he personally presented the case, himself 
carried the petition to Albany. In answer to his 
urgent appeals, a pardon was finally granted. 

Two days before the time named for the pardon 
to become effective, there came a letter from the 
warden, saying the man was ill with pneumonia, so 
ill that he could not be moved for the present. 
The next morning, a telegram: condition critical— 
death likely in few hours—great desire to see his 
friend once more. Boarding the first train, Dr. 





24-Carat Christianity 145 


Houghton reached the man’s bedside in time for 
recognition, the saying of a prayer and the Bless- 
ing. Those kindly hands closed the eyes for their 
long, last sleep. 

Arrangements for removing the body to New 
York were at once made. In the baggage room of 
the New York Central Railroad, baggagemen 
standing with bowed heads, the Rector read the 
Burial Office. The body was interred in Con- 
secrated Ground, in St. Michael’s Cemetery. 

To the parents in Germany, a letter was written 
telling them of their son’s death, assuring them of 
his repentance and final trust in God. In due 
time, a letter to the Rector, full of gratitude for 
his ministry to their wandering boy. Could they 
ask one thing more? money was enclosed for a 
marble slab. 

A stone stands at the head of the grave of a man 
who lived a black sheep, but who, according to the 
Faith, was saved to the Fold. 


The Sunday morning after the receipt of the first 
letter from the convict in the penitentiary at 
Trenton, Dr. Houghton read the letter from his 
pulpit. He explained that the letter was thus made 
public, because there might, by chance, be some- 
one in the church beset by the same temptations 
that had started this man on the path to the peni- 
tentiary, someone who might be strengthened by 
sympathy and advice. If any such there were, 


146 The Little Church Around the Corner 


he urged that there be no delay in coming to him. 

After the congregation had dispersed and the 
Rector was in the Sacristy, removing his vest- 
ments, there was a tap at the door. A young man, 
a stranger, entered. He said that he had chanced 
to drop into The Little Church that morning, had 
heard the letter read, and—had come to talk with 
the Rector. 

Little by little, the story came out: the theft of 
money from his employer, his daily expectation 
of discovery, his agony of mind, his uncertainty 
what to do. 

The Rector’s advice: “Face it like a man.” 
Satisfied of his penitence, of his desire to go right, 
he told him that he should go to his employer, 
confess his wrong, and abide the results. 

But he did not leave him to face the ordeal alone. 
The next morning, Monday, he went with the 
young man to the employer in Jersey City. The 
penitent told the story of his theft; the clergyman 
urged that he be given a chance to make good; 
the employer gave him the chance, letting him 
retain his job. 

In weekly installments, the stolen money was 
returned. A man, barely over the threshold of his 
career, had been saved from the penitentiary. 


In the preceding chapter I told of the theft of 
five sacred vessels from the Sacristy, and the pub- 
lication of the robbery in the newspapers. 


24-Carat Christianity 147 


A few days later, two men called at the Rectory 
and asked for a private interview. They then 
introduced themselves as professional burglars. 
Then: “We don’t believe anyone in the profession 
was mean enough to steal that silver.’’ They said 
something about gossip in the underworld—how 
those who are its citizens get wind of who com- 
mitted this, that or the other crime, just as Wall 
Street men get wind of who negotiated this, that 
or the other deal. “If we're wrong, if it was a 
professional who pulled off this robbery, we are 
sure to find the man. We'll kill that kind of a 
dirty sneak.” But that wasn’t what they had 
come to say: they wanted to assure Dr. Houghton 
that if they could locate the silver, they would see 
that it was promptly returned. The Rector’s part 
in this conversation is unrecorded. 

Shortly after this visit, a letter, mailed in Jersey 
City, came to the Rector. The writer said that 
he knew where the silver was and who had stolen 
it, and that he might be able to return it. He asked 
for an interview at the Rectory, making these 
conditions: that the day and hour be fixed in. 
advance, that the appointment be punctually kept, 
that no one but the Rector should be present. In 
a reply, speedily dispatched, the conditions were 
agreed to. 

Upon the appointed day, exactly at the appoint- 
ed hour, the Rectory door-bell rang. Dr. Hough- 
ton had already told the maid not to answer the 


148 The Little Church Around the Corner 


bell at that hour. He went to the door himself. 
His visitor, a shabbily dressed man, pale, emaciat- 
ed, apparently a consumptive, was taken to the 
‘“‘above-stairs study,” the door closed. 

The man said that he had nothing to do with 
the robbery; but that the burglars were friends of 
his. He told where the silver was deposited; that 
the intention was to melt it down; but that he 
could return it to the Church uninjured if he were 
given twenty-five dollars to take to those with 
whom the silver was deposited. 

Dr. Houghton was inclined to put faith in the 
man, but decided to see if he would keep faith in 
the matter of a second appointment. He named a 
day and hour, to which the man agreed. 

When he saw his visitor to the Rectory door, he 
discovered that a hard rain had come on. 

‘Here; wait a moment; you must not go out in 
such weather as this without an umbrella.’ He 
reached into the umbrella stand. ‘Take mine.” 

“Why Doctor, would you trust me with a silk 
umbrella?”’ 

“Trust you? why of course. Take the um- 
brella—and take good care of yourself: you seem 
to be far from well.” 

At the appointed time the man returned. He 
brought the umbrella with him. He expressed 
gratitude, not so much for the loan, as for the 
Doctor’s confidence in him. Preliminaries were 
settled and a check for twenty-five dollars written. 


24-Carat Christianity 149 


Then they went together to a near-by hotel 
where the check was cashed, the money handed 
over. 

It was a cold autumn day. The man was very 
thinly clad. He looked even more miserable than 
at the first meeting. 

As they were parting, Dr. Houghton said: 

“Tm afraid you are a very sick man. You 
certainly are not properly protected from the cold. 
Now you must put on my overcoat.” 

Dr. Houghton started to take it from his 
shoulders as he spoke. 

Tears came into the man’s eyes. But he re- 
monstrated: 

**Oh Doctor, I could not do it—not out here in 
the street. What would people think?” 

**Well then, come back to the Rectory with me 
and put it on in the hall.” 

And from the Rectory the intimate of thieves 
departed under the protection of the Rector’s 
great-coat. 

Day after day went by, and there came no 
tidings of the silver. Dr. Houghton believed the 
man was ill, too ill to either come or write. Finally 
he placed a personal in the Herald, under initials 
agreed upon: 


If in want, I will gladly help you. To lose 
faith in you would be worse than anything else 
that could happen. Write. 


150 The Little Church Around the Corner 


The mail brought a postcard: “I have been too 
sick to write or see you. Will meet you at 3 o’clock 
on Friday at—East—Street.” (He named a 
street-number in Harlem.) 

On that day, important and unexpected duties 
engaged the Rector so long that he was late in 
arriving at the place designated. No one was there. 
He never heard of or from the man again, but al- 
ways maintained that he was honest and that 
either sickness or personal violence prevented a 
fulfillment of his promises. 


The Rector was in his study, busily engaged in 
catching up with his correspondence and parochial 
duties. 

The maid entered. 

“A young man is downstairs with a letter of 
introduction to you.” 

‘Tell him to come right up here.”’ 

The letter of introduction was written by an 
English priest who expressed his regret at not 
knowing the Rector personally; but, knowimg him 
by reputation, he “‘ventured to recommend the 
bearer as deserving, of good family, ability, worthy 
of assistance,” etc. 

The young man said that he had just arrived 
from England; that he had come to America to 
seek employment as an artist; spoke modestly, but 
not depreciatively, of his ability; he had some 
money, not very much; what he wanted most was 





Dr. George Hendric Houghton 


Founder of the Church 
Rector for near a Half Century 





24-Carat Christianity 151 


work. Did the Rector know any publishers, and 
would he give the artist letters of recommendation 
to them? 

The Rector wrote to several of his friends among 
the publishers, asking them to give the young man 
a chance to show his ability. He would make no 
other request than that: letters of recommenda- 
tion were not in his line. He rarely gave one, and 
then only when he knew from personal acquaint- 
ance that facts warranted the giving. 

Would the Rector recommend a respectable 
boarding place? Yes, that he would do cheer- 
fully. : 

As the interview drew toward a close, it appeared 
that the young artist needed “a little more money ”’ 
than he had at the immediate moment. Would the 
Rector let him have it, “of course, merely as a 
loan.’ Yes, that also he would do. 

Daily visits to the Rectory followed. The 
Englishman was of engaging personality. Before 
long, he secured from the Rector a promise of 
*“‘further assistance.” 

Then, early one morning, there came a message 
from him: he was in the Tombs—he was to be tried 
that day—begged the Rector to come down and 
get him off. 

Turning his back on his schedule of work for the 
day, Dr. Houghton hurried to the Tombs. Officials 
assured him that there was no question of the 
man’s guilt. When he saw the prisoner, he found 


152 The Little Church Around the Corner 


him absolutely indifferent to the fact that he had 
committed a crime, interested in only one thing— 
how to escape punishment. 

The impenitent needs the birch. 

Dr. Houghton told him that he must abide the 
legal consequence of his crime. But, he staid by 
him during his trial—Guilty: Six months on 
Blackwell’s Island—As he shook the prisoner’s 
hand and bade him “good-bye,’’ the Rector told 
him that as soon as he was released, to come to the 
Rectory and he would try to help him in any way 
that he could. 

And now for the grain of gold in the muck: 

Sentenced to jail, the fellow’s only anxiety was 
that his father and mother, back in England, 
should not hear of it. It was arranged that his 
letters to his family and friends should be sent to 
the Rectory and remailed from there, their letters 
to him were to be addressed to the Rectory and 
thence forwarded to Blackwell’s Island. 

In time there came a letter from the mother, ad- 
dressed to Dr. Houghton. She wrote thanking the 
Rector for all his kindness to her son, from whom 
they had just received a nice long letter. He told 
them he was under an engagement for six months 
to go to the Rocky Mountains, and make sketches 
for Harper’s Weekly, and during that time letters 
would be forwarded by Dr. Houghton who would 
know his exact whereabouts. ‘‘My son writes,” 
she added, “that he owes his present engagement 


24-Carat Christianity 153 


entirely to you. You don’t know how cry I 
am that you so kindly secured it for him.”’ 
The six-months’ “engagement” came to an end. 
The young Englishman was never seen at the 
Rectory again. 


No, she wouldn’t send her name up: it would 
mean nothing to Dr. Houghton—she was a stranger 
—her home was in a city in the far West. But she 
was anxious to see him upon a matter of great 
importance to herself. Could she? 

The Rector came down from his study. 

And this is what she told him: 

An only son, grown to manhood, upon whom was 
centered all her love, had become dissipated. He 
had tried to reform but had failed. As a last hope, 
he was about to embark for a long sea-voyage on a 
sailing ship, the captain of which was an old friend 
of the family. Mother and son had come on from 
the West; the ship was to sail in forty-eight hours; 
she was staying to see him off. Would Dr. Hough- 
ton please have a little talk with her boy: she felt 
sure that it would strengthen his good resolutions. 

Within the hour, the Rector’s study door closed 
behind the young man. There was a long, long 
talk. And when the Rector accompanied him 
downstairs, there was a something—perhaps in his 
eyes, perhaps in the set of his shoulders—that told 
the mother, who was waiting, that the transforma- 
tion had been worked in her boy. Her thanks 


154 Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


were too heart-felt to be translated into words. 
A warm pressure of the hand, and the strangers 
were gone. 

The story unfolds from the mother angle: 

The next afternoon, the son went out for a stroll. 
As the hours of absence lengthened into the twi- 
light, the mother began to steal uneasy glances at the 
clock; the dinner-hour came and went—there could 
no longer be any question what was keeping him! 

She could bear those hours of waiting, of listen- 
ing, no longer. In a frenzy of despair, she started 
out to seek him, in the streets, in the saloons. 

The barrooms closed. 

But she kept up her weary search, wandering 
through the deserted streets and avenues of a 
strange city. 

Dawn—sunrise—the clatter of milk wagons— 
streets taking on life—a big city waking up. 

The saloons opened. Yes, that was where she 
would find him. 


But, as it was so very early, a little after six, 
the thought came to me that there was at 
least time to say a prayer at that hour in the 
quiet little Church. So I turned my steps 
thither. I saw one kneeling there before me, 
and, as I passed him softly, recognized my own 
son. 

(From a letter written by the mother, to 
Dr. Houghton.) 


24-Carat Christianity 155 


The young man had yielded to the old lure; had 
spent the afternoon and evening in dissipation; 
had fallen into a drunken sleep in some handy bed. 
Waking in the early morning, realizing the suffer- 
ings of his mother, he was seized with remorse. 
He decided to go first to The Little Church, and 
there ask upon his knees pardon for the wrong- 
doing, strength for the future. 

Mother and son knelt side-by-side in prayer. 


Had not my steps been so directed, and his 
also, I know not when or where we should have 
met again; for in the place where I was intending 
to seek him, he would not have been found. 


As they left the Church, they met the Rector, 
coming for the celebration of the early morning 
service. 


It was a great comfort that he made, before 
you, that tearful acknowledgment of wrong, and 
had your blessing. They seemed to me Sacra- 
mental. 


And that day the Rector went with the young 
man to his ship, saw him on board, remained until 
the long voyage began. 

Months later, a letter came. It was written on 
the sailing ship, then off the coast of the Argentine, 
South America. “I have prayed and prayed for 


156 «The Little Church Around the Corner 


guidance and help, and it is my earnest wish, if 
God spares my life, to live as a Christian and a 
gentleman.” 

That letter received a four-page answer. How 
anxious Dr. Houghton was that he should say just 
the right thing, is revealed by the fact that he 
drafted the letter first. That draft has come to 
me in the chance accumulation contained in the 
old, black-leather valise. It is just such a letter as 
a father might write. 

Years later, there came to The Little Church, 
for summer duty, a priest from that same western 
city. He knew these people well. The young man 
had become a prosperous business man; the mother, 
now an old lady, was enjoying with him a comfort- 
able and a happy home. 


The incidents thus far narrated in this chapter, 
have been written from the notes for a history of 
The Little Church, prepared by the Rector’s 
nephew and successor, the late Dr. Houghton. 

In his Forty-fifth Anniversary Sermon, the 
Rector, the first Dr. Houghton, said: 


There has been much, much, that is unusual, 
much, much, that is out of the ordinary parochial 
experience . 

It is not two weeks since a prominent pub- 
lisher of this town asked the Rector when his 
reminiscences would be written and printed. 


24-Carat Christianity 157 


No such book will ever be written. No such 
reminiscence will ever be printed. No diary, 
no journal, has ever been kept, no record has 
ever been made, no documents, no letters, no 
notes have ever been preserved . 


But though no letters involving priestly con- 
fidence were “‘preserved,” in the great volume of 
correspondence the destruction of some was over- 
looked. Among the hundreds of letters of other 
nature, the sermons, documents, memoranda, in 
the old, black-leather valise, I have unearthed a 
handful of that which was proscribed. 

Those whom these letters concerned, are long 
since dust. I have changed names, addresses. 
The publication of them in this book cannot result 
in “‘the least possible pain or regret of a living 
soul’’—the thing the Rector wished to avoid. 

And so I have used them: they give some small 
glimpse of the untiring activities of the samaritan 
whose address was 1 East Twenty-ninth Street; 
nor is their value as “human documents”’ to be 
overlooked. 


RicHMoND, VA. 
July 15, 1886 


Dear Dector HouGHtTon 


Your letter received this morning gave us a 
great shock and is the first intimation we have 


158 The Little Church Around the Corner 


had that there is any question at this time about 
the past. We had thought it as you say “buried 
in silence.” 

I am wholly unaware of the circulation of any 
story in reference to either my sister or myself. 
We do not clearly understand if it was . 
who asked you to contradict it. 


Through God’s great mercy the events of the 
past have not in all these years been suspected. 
My sisters knew everything truthfully but 
through a train of providential circumstances 
my brothers were absolutely in ignorance of the 
whole matter. Shortly after the time you knew 
of, they were all three married. Two of them are 
living here, with their little families around 
them, and are very happy. One brother has 
since died leaving a wife and child who also 
live here. Surely now is not the time to 
bring up the past to them since they never 
knew! 

My sister and I lead quiet, busy lives. . 

We have a loved home and many warm friends. 


Will you relieve our great anxiety by stating 
what has been said to you and by whom? 

I most earnestly regret that you should be 
troubled about this matter. I have never half 
expressed how grateful I am to you for past 


24-Carat Christianity 159 


kindness, and it makes me the more sorry to 
again trespass upon your time and attention. 
Yours with all respect 
Mary Brown 


Dear Doctor Hovueuton 

The book mark is the prettiest which I have 
ever seen and is very highly prized by me. How 
can you think of wanting to send me presents? 
To your anxious watchfulness we owe the life of 
our precious child; you have made her life the 
greatest blessing of ours; if we had unlimited 
wealth we could never repay you for all that 
you were to us in a dreary past, for all that you 
are in the bright present. Daily thanks are 
offered to our Father in Heaven for His mercy 
in allowing our child to return to the Shepherd 
and the Fold. Do you not perceive that we 
must always be your indebted as well as ever 
grateful friends? 

Truly and affectionately 
SARAH Ror 


MANCHESTER, ENGLAND 
Nov. 24, 1890 


My pear Dr. Houcuton 
I was indeed thankful to receive the enclosed 
letter yesterday and to know that Henry is 


160 The Little Church Around the Corner 


alive and well, so hasten to send it on to you to 
let you know the state he is in and to beg you to 
help me further. He must have clothes before 
he can do anything. I beg you will help me in 
this matter. Do you know any one in St. Louis 
you could ask to get them for him? I feel con- 
fident you will find some means of doing this for 
me, so I am enclosing you a Post Office order 
for £10 which I shall be so grateful if you will 
have laid out to the best advantage for him. 
We do not think it would be best, under the cir- 
cumstances, to send him money as he might be 
tempted to make other use of it. You will see 
that Charlie North suggests I should send him 
the money to get clothes for Henry, but I do not 
know him personally and have heard such con- 
tradictory accounts of him that I do not know 
if we can trust him to do as he says. 

I wrote to Henry yesterday telling I was going 
to send you money to get him some clothes but 
that he must write to you on receipt of my letter 
so we may be sure of help reaching him. 

Did you receive a letter I wrote to you last 
month begging you to make inquiries about him? 

I do wish he were nearer to New York 
so that you might see him personally and advise 
him. 

I feel so unhappy when I think of all my poor 
brother has been through but sincerely trust he 
will make a fresh start now and get on. 


24-Carat Christianity 161 


Hoping you will forgive me for giving you so 
much trouble. 
Yours ever gratefully 
JANE WHITE 


(The following letter was enclosed with the 
above.) 


Granp Forks, Norta Dakota 
Nov. 8, 1890 


My DEAR JANE 


Your letter of last summer was received by 
me after some delay as Nellie did not have my 
address. I should have answered before this. 
As I had not heard anything from him for nearly 
two years though I had made inquiries and tryed 
every way to locate him. And had about given 
it up when to my great delight and surprise I 
received a letter from him dated St. Louis. I 
answered the same at once. And about two 
weeks ago I went to St. Louis and seen him. 
And I must say Jane that the poor boy has had 
a hard time of it. As he told me that he did not 
intend to let any one hear from him until he 
could give a good account of himself but the 
coming cold winter and the experience he had 
last season has compelled him to ask for assist- 
ance. I do not want to hurt your feelings but 
the poor boy is no better off than a tramp he is 


162 The Little Church Around the Corner 


in the cheapest kind of a lodging house. And 
is often without enough to eat. 

And last winter his bed was a box car. 

He is alone then in St. Louis without work 
and winter coming on. 

I am now trying to find work for him and think 
in time I will be successful but if I do he has no 
clothes that he could put in an appearance with. 
All he has to cover his back with is an old thread- 
bare suit no underclothes or linen. I expect to 
go to live in St. Louis in about six weeks we are 
now boarding. as I am travelling on the road 
and as soon as I get settled he is welcome to 
come with me. but in the meantime, something 
ought to be done for him, and that at once. for he 
is so discouraged that he is liable to do something 
desperate. 

If you feel that you are able to assist him in 
any way, you had better let me know. and I 
will see that he is properly Clothed for the winter 
As I think I could put the money to very good 
advantage for him 

His Adress is . . . Stret, St. Louis Mo but 
as one cannot tell how long he will be there you 
had better send his mail to me. As now I will 
keep track of him Now Jane I do not want you 
to Worrie about Henry. but do what you can for 
him he is doing the best he can under circum- 
stances. And is willing to work. but in his 
present condition he can do nothing 


24-Carat Christianity 163 


You write me on receipt of this to the adress 
below 
Trusting that this will find you well. with 
love. Believe Me. 
Sincerely Yours 
CHARLIE NortTH 


MANCHESTER, ENGLAND 
Feby. 15, 1891 


My pear Dr. HoucHton 


Thank you so much for your kind letter. It 
was so good of you to write me yourself for the 
sight of your handwriting was the best assurance 
I could have that you were feeling somewhat 
better. 

Thanks also for enclosing Mr. Starkweather’s 
letter, which is such a comfort to me—I am so 
glad to know that after all Henry has used the 
money I sent for clothes, and sincerely trust he 
will now be able to get steady work and pray 
that he will now really try to get on 

Thank you dear friend for all the trouble you 
have taken on his account, and for putting him 
under the notice of a friend of your own whose 
influence will I hope urge him to do better. 





I find I am in your debt for $2 which I hope 
soon to forward to you but sometimes it is so 
difficult to get American greenbacks out here. 


164 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Again thanking you for all your goodness to 
me and hoping you will soon be restored to 
perfect health, 

Yours ever very gratefully 
JANE WHITE 


WARMINGHAM REcTORY, 
SANDHURST ENGLAND, 
Sept. 20, 1888. 


Rev. AND Dear Mr. Hovuauton, 


Your very kind letter would have been an- 
swered sooner but Mrs. Green has been moving 
about during the summer holiday, and I have 
had some difficulty in finding her address. I 
enclose the letter she has written to me, which, 
you will see, only proves that Green is, as he has 
been before proved to be, a wicked har! I also 
enclose a copy of the letter which Mrs. Green it 
seems, did write to him last Christmas. I was 
not aware that she had done so until I received 
her letter this week. He left very many debts 
unpaid when he sailed from England for Jamaica 
the week after he was married, so that I am not 
surprised to hear that he has been a swindler in 
America. It really is too bad that such a man 
should be able to do so much mischief and yet 
be unpunished. I do hope that the German 
girl will not be taken in by him, as poor Miss 
Bell was in Jamaica. I am glad to hear that the 


24-Carat Christianity 165 


latter lady does now understand what Green’s 
true character is, for at first it was, I heard, dif- 
ficult to persuade her of the true state of the 
case. Green’s children by his first wife are now 
entirely supported by the present Mrs. Green, 
who is devoted to them. 

I can not sufficiently thank you for taking so 
much trouble in this sad affair. I shall always 
be interested to hear anything that you may 
wish to communicate to me and will gladly 
answer any questions. 

May God continue to bless your work. With 
kind regards, 

I am yours very sincerely 
Henry [IRELAND BLACKBURNE 
(I see no reason for not using 
the name and address of Canon 


Blackburne. ) 


(The two following letters were enclosed with 
the above.) 


HUDDERSFIELD, 
Sept. 17, 1888. 

Dear Canon BLACKBURNE 

I received your letter and enclosure this 
morning and am most pained and shocked by 
the wicked conduct of my husband as are also 
his relatives with whom I am now staying. 

With regard to the statements made by my 


166 The Little Church Around the Corner 


husband, they are quite false, except the fact 
that I wrote to him last Christmas but not as he 
says to ask his forgiveness. The first thing 
he says is “That he was forced into the second 
marriage.” With regard to that, I may say, 
(though you know the circumstances almost as 
well as myself) I was engaged to Mr. Green in 
December of ’83—he told me that he was going 
to Jamaica, and a few weeks before the time 
fixed for his departure, asked if I would go out 
there to be married if he was unable to come for 
me. I promised to do so, but upon it coming to 
the knowledge of my parents, they refused to al- 
low my going out and said that unless I went as 
his wife, it should not be. He told me of it and 
begged me to consent to the marriage. I did so 
and he procured a license and we were married 
in Weston Church on February 3, 1884. He 
left on the 10” of that month. His children 
were not in my charge at all till after our mar- 
riage and were not alluded to by either of my 
parents. With regard to the marriage being an- 
nulled, it is not, or if so I know nothing of it and 
it is not with my consent. I do not understand 
how it could be so. 

As to my writing to him last Christmas, I did, 
simply because I thought at that season his 
heart might be softened and he be influenced for 
good. I prayed that it might be so. I have en- 
closed a copy of the letter for you to see, as I 


24-Carat Christianity 167 


sent one to his cousin at the time and she has 
fortunately preserved it and kindly allowed me 
to copy it. I may have acted foolishly, but I did 
not think any one could be bad enough to twist 
and turn what I wrote as he has done; I can 
only pray that God will forgive him, and give me 
strength to bear this burden. 

I am grateful to you for so kindly sending the 
letter tome. The children were well when I left 
last Thursday and hope are so still. With kind 
regards 

Yours ever gratefully 


E. A. GREEN 
(Copy) 
Tue Scuoout Hovsz, 
SALISBURY, ENGLAND 
Dear JOE 


As the Holy Season of Xmas is again ap- 
proaching I feel that we ought not to allow our 
hearts to harbor resentment any longer but obey 
the command of our Blessed Lord and forgive as 
we would be forgiven. 

As the Angels sang ‘‘Peace on earth” so let 
the peace Christmas brings enter into our hearts 
and that Holy, happy season be one of great 
joy. The children, I am happy to say are well 
at present but darling Nora is very delicate and 
often ailing. I hope all is well with you. I shall 


168 The Little Church Around the Corner 


be glad to have a line in reply and till I hear 
from you 
Remain 
Yours &e. 
E. A. GREEN 


New York, Sept. 10, 1865. 


My pEAR Dr. HouGcHTon 


It is very pleasant to hear of your welfare 
from time to time, indirectly, though it is long 
since we have had any direct intelligence from 
you. The time is drawing near now when we 
may hope to see you face to face, provided you 
still hold to your purpose of coming home in the 
Persia. . . . As your house may not be ready 
for you, will you not, with Mrs. Houghton, give 
us the pleasure of a visit from you immediately 
on your return? We shall be delighted if you 
will come directly to our house, and stay as long 
as you will. I shall try to meet you on the ar- 
rival of the steamer, and hope you will consent 
to this proposal. 

. At the meeting of the Vestry about 
ten days ago, we elected Mr. Betts, Mr. Brad- 
ford and Mr. Docharty delegates to the Conven- 
tion. I presume you will not be home in time to 
attend it. So far as I learn all is going well at 
the Church. . . . 

Hoping to welcome you both home safe and 


24-Carat Christianity 169 


well, I am, dear Doctor Houghton, with great 
regard, ever truly and affectionately 
Yours 
BERTRAM BLACK 


(The address on the following letter, year not 
given, shows that the Blacks had moved down- 
town, into the Washington Square district.) 


Oct. 27. 
My Dear Dr. Hovexuton, 


Your kind note bidding us farewell was duly 
rec'd and Mrs. Black joins with me in thanking 
you for the friendship towards us that you ex- 
press therein. 

With your permission, however, you will have 
to count us again among your parishioners, for 
when it came to leaving, Mrs. Black could not 
reconcile herself to severing a connection which 
has been so long and so pleasant and did not feel 
that she would be “at home” in any other 
Church in New York. So we have retaken our 
pew and do not intend to try again to leave you. 

. Hoping soon to have the pleasure of 
seeing you, and with kind regards from Mrs. 
Black and myself 

Believe me 
Very truly yours 
BrerTRAM BLAcK 


170 The Little Church Around the Corner 


HOUSE OF BISHOPS 


Boston, MassacHvuseEtT'Ts, 
October 4, 1877. 


DEAREST DEAR Dr. Hovcuton, 


You will know why I send you this note be- 
fore you read a line. My heart is nearly broken, 
and I fear yours must be quite—God help us! 
What poor creatures we are! It seems as if the 
time were fast coming when we could no longer 
trust our nearest and dearest friend, least of all 
trust ourselves. Through all this dreadful news 
of Black’s wrong-doing, my thoughts have been 
of you, more, I may say, than of the chief actors 
and material sufferers. God be merciful, sus- 
tain and comfort you, and help you to feel as- 
sured of what every one who has known you, as 
your loving Bishop has known you, that this 
dreadful defection and fall, is in no way ow- 
ing to any failure of duty on the part of the 
Rector. 

May God visit Black with His Grace and 
Mercy,—and, if he be now in the land of the 
living, may he be brought to deep effectual re- 
pentance, and then to all the consolations and 
hopes purchased by the sacrifice of our dear 
adorable Lord and Saviour. Again I say, dear 
friend, God comfort you—God comfort us 
all— 

Ever your loving Bishop and friend 
Hote 


24-Carat Christianity 171 
(Extract of letter from a friend.) 


14 Oct. ’77 


. . . My heart has been with you all day 
today. Last evening brought us your let- 
ter and the papers containing the accounts 
of the full proceedings in court on Friday. 
The terrible story progresses rapidly and to- 
day I have been thinking as you have of 
him, this first day and first Sunday in prison, 
alone. 

We think and talk of everything—of Black— 
Mrs. Black—the children—the  sisters—the 
brothers—you—the church. . . . All seems so 
hopeless to us. God only can help any of the 
sufferers. I pity and pray for him with sincere 
sympathy. I can in one sense understand his ex- 
planation, and appreciate his mental course but 
as In so many other cases I can not reconcile it 
with sound reasoning faculties. I can’t under- 
stand how he could have looked forward a day. 
There was not, to any man of reasonable busi- 
ness capacity, a glimmer of hope. He must have 
been utterly crazed from the beginning and in- 
capable of judgment. In any other case he would 
a year or more ago have come to you, or to some 
one, and told all and asked advice as to what he 
should do to save himself and those dependent on 
him. 


172 The Little Church Around the Corner 


(Extract of letter from another friend.) 


. . . My brother James has received the en- 
closed offer and sent it to me to show to Mrs. 
Black’s brother. It has reached me here in Bos- 
ton and it struck me that you in New York 
would know more of the plans and feelings of the 
friends who are caring for the children—and per- 
haps something of this gentleman whose offer 
seems to be made with delicacy and sincere 
kindness. 

I need not say how much our hearts have been 
with the unhappy sufferers in this dreadful af- 
fair, and with you in your holy work of suffering 
with and sustaining them . 

I received yesterday a letter giving an ac- 
count of a visit paid to Mrs. Black by our old 
friend, Dr. .. . Huis account of her state is 
altogether favorable, the view that he takes is 
hopeful though he considers her case still as 
critical, requiring time and care. For my part I 
cannot but regard this cloud that has swept 
over her mind as a merciful one. In it she re- 
members no more the anguish, and lives as one 
in a dream—it is as Milton said of his blindness 
“‘a darkness from the overshadowing of the 
Almighty wings.” 

My husband desires his regards to you and 
says that you have filled the ideal of a Christian 
pastor in your care of this stricken family. 


24-Carat Christianity 173 
(The next letter is written in a childish hand.) 


December 21, 1877 


Dear Doctor HoucHton 

The little letters came safely yesterday, and I 
am very much obliged to you for mine. I have 
been down to help “bunch” twice this week. 
Only a few of the Sunday School children come. 

We have had no snow worth speaking of yet, 
so we have been able to go in the woods a good 
deal. We find beautiful mosses and berries and 
evergreens to trim the house with. 

We had a nice letter from Papa yesterday, and 
today we had one from Mamma. She says she 
is coming here the day before Christmas. We 
are all so glad. 

Arthur had a beautiful birthday last Saturday. 
He had two cakes. It happened this way. He 
was invited out to tea and had a cake there. 
When he came home he had another for we did 
not think he would have one when he was 
away. 

I am going to learn the collects for the differ- 
ent Sundays in the year and when I wrote to 
Papa about it, he said he would learn them to. 
I think it will be real nice to know that we are 
learning them together. 

Your loving 
Este Buack 
Dover Town. 


174 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Lear S~ Nouppone 





(The message to Dr. Houghton, in the circle 
surrounded by the names of the five children of the 
man in Sing Sing, reads: “‘List to the song of the 
friendly Robin who would fain sing you a warm 
welcome among your friends in Dover Town.’’) 

Sine SING, 
July 9, 1879. 
My pear Dr. HoucHtTon 
I am inexpressibly grateful for your letter. 
How very distressing was the murder of Mr. 


24-Carat Christianity 175 


Seymour! I had already heard of it, and knew 
that you must be passing through another of 
those strange experiences which so often come 
to your lot, and that your sympathy and strength 
must again be taxed to the utmost. 

I cannot recall the words of my last letter in 
reference to the feeling against me, which I had 
been told existed in certain quarters, but infer 
from your letter that I said something about 
“throwing me overboard.” Let me explain that 
what I meant'was simply this,—that while I 
could never doubt,—even if it should be the will 
of God that our paths in life should diverge so 
far that no word could pass between us,—while 
I could never doubt even then, that you still 
gave me your affection, your blessing and your 
prayers, I should not think it right to remain in 
a position where my presence could be an em- 
barrassment or impediment to your usefulness, 
though I know that you are not one to be dis- 
turbed or disquieted because thoughtless people 
may say of you “this man is a friend of publicans 
and sinners.” —I do not know how you or any 
right minded man could have helped being 
moved with indignation against me.—Horror 
and righteous anger must have come most 
naturally’ to the minds of all good people—es- 
specially to those whose lives had been spotless, 
who had never been tempted or had never been 
overcome by deadly sins,—in the shock and sur- 


176 The Little Church Around the Corner 


prise my downfall gave them. It is natural I 
think for any one to be more indignant at 
crimes which are quite foreign to their nature, 
than at the sins which easily beset them.—But 
if you did feel moved and indignant in your heart 
you never showed it to me, and while I knew 
very well that my sin must seem to you enor- 
mous and abominable, as indeed it was, I never 
found in you anything but compassion and 
loving kindness, for which I have daily thanked 
God because it has given me some increase of 
faith that if He imparts His Spirit so largely to 
one of His servants, He will also extend His for- 
giving mercy to me.— 

In meditating upon the past I cannot tell 
whom I have most deeply wronged :—sometimes 
it is one, and sometimes another who seems to 
rise up as an accusing spirit. 

This I know, that I grievously wronged you, 
and the Church.—If I have been slow to ask for- 
giveness it has been, not because I did not feel 
the need of it,—but because I knew that in the 
largeness of your heart it was granted before it 
was asked, and because I knew that any words 
of penitence might well be received with distrust, 
and that time alone would test my sincerity. 

It was through no fault of yours that anything 
which I did or tried to do for the Church had a 
“taint”? upon it.— It was many years ago that 
I received a letter from you, which I kept and 


24-Carat Christianity Lay 


often read, in which, in the kindest way, you 
raise a question whether I was not giving more 
than I ought to give—From that time on I 
think I gave more anonymously than I did 
openly. Nobody knows better than I do that a 
sacrifice must be spotless:—that the end does 
not justify the means:—that God’s favor is not 
to be gained by the fruits of dishonesty and sin: 
—and it is true that I never imagined that it 
could be so gained. 

On the other hand it is also true, (at least I be- 
lieve I am not deceived in saying) that what 
little I did do,—(it was not much, though more 
than was justifiable)—was not done with the 
purpose of gaining your favor or the favor of 
any man,—but from a necessity which seemed 
to be laid upon me to help to the uttermost of my 
power objects which seemed to demand all the 
support I could give.—One thing is certain you 
never suggested in the slightest degree that I 
should give so much as a penny to anything in 
which you were interested.—Let me say here,— 
that the font and the Cross, the only two objects 
that I know of, which could by any possibility be 
identified with me, were the fruits of honest 
labor long before I had diverged from the road of 
honor and integrity. 

I found when Mrs. Black was last here, that 
she had been under the impression that these 
forgeries had been going on since the year 1863— 


178 The Little Chureh Around the Corner 


She gathered it from some newspaper, and was 
relieved to find that they had not dated back 
more than two years— Perhaps you and others 
were under the same misapprehension 

Now I do not wish to be guilty of extenuating 
my wrong doing: on the contrary the wickedness 
of it seems greater all the time,—and would have 
overwhelmed me but for the greatness of God’s 
mercy which has been manifested to me through 
the forbearance of my fellow men whom I have 
injured, and the forgiveness which I hope He has 
put into their hearts.— 

But I hope it is not wrong to believe, that 
along with all my mistakes, my errors, my sins, 
that there was ever in my heart just a little 
spark of love to God! and love to man, which 
did not make wrong right, but which was in- 
deed a strong living principle. 

I don’t know anything about it, and don’t 
understand and can’t explain. But it seems to 
me that I went wrong in the very way and the 
very places where I most wanted to be and do 
right.— 

It would doubtless be a relief to think that I 
was not of sound mind—and I should come to 
that conclusion about anyone else,—but in this 
case no such apology is admissible. 

My perceptions of right and duty were as clear 
as they are now,—and I stand utterly without 
excuse or justification, self-condemned. 





24-Carat Christianity 179 


God have mercy upon me.— 

But I did not mean to say all this:—it was not 
necessary.—I only wanted you to be assured 
that I am deeply sorry for the pain I have given 
you,—and that I value your friendship so highly 
that the very thought of separation is so painful 
that I could not have suggested such a thing but 
from a sense of what might under certain cir- 
cumstances be a duty to you.—I have sometimes 
thought I would propose to my brothers and 
sisters to change my name and go far away 
from them,—but sober reason tells me that such 
a proposition would be little less than an insult to 
their affection,—and in like manner with regard 
to yourself I shall not deprive myself of your 
sympathy, your help and your affection as long 
as you are willing to give them to me, for to do so 
would be an ungrateful return for your proffered 
kindness. 

I heard from the newspaper reports current 
here, that you had been to Albany: and my 
sister also wrote, very guardedly, to the same 
effect yesterday.— 

She named no names, nor did she say a word 
of what Mr. L. had done, except to assure me 
again that he had done and would do all he 
could.—She did not even say that he had ac- 
companied you, but said you were fully in 
accord.— 

I am more than satisfied with what has been 


180 The Little Church Around the Corner 


done, and, whatever may be the result, am 
more glad the longer I think of it, that the effort 
has been made.—It is a great thing for me, and 
for the children, that so many good men have 
signified their concurrence.—It is for the Gov- 
ernor to decide what the interests of the State 
require.—I shall be satisfied, whether the result 
is adverse to our hopes or not, and with very 
little expectation of a successful issue shall not 
be disheartened if he says no.— 

My injured fellow men have been more merci- 
ful and forgiving to me than I am to myself— 
and Divine Justice is more merciful and wise 
than the administrators of human law.— 

My prayer is that while I stay here I may 
have the grace of patient endurance and content- 
ment:—and that whenever I go out I may have 
courage and fortitude; and that wherever I am 
I may have true repentence, humility and sin- 
cerity. 

I never had a word or message from either 
HW. W. B. or T. K. B. nor knew anything about 
their feelings toward me, until Mrs. Black’s last 
visit here when she said they had very kindly 
offered to do all they could to influence the 
Governor.— 

I did glance at the published report of his, 
H. W. B’s, sermon, the day I left New York, but 
did not read it.—This is all I know of either of 
them. 


24-Carat Christianity 181 


You are almost as familiar with everything 
which happened subsequent to the 1st of October, 
1877, as I am, and you know that I was not will- 
ing to move until I had sent for you and that I 
took counsel with you alone at every step.—I 
was more anxious that you, rather than anyone 
else, should approve what I did,—and though it 
seemed to me that the responsibility of decision 
could not be transferred from me to any one else, I 
have hoped that whether you fully coincided with 
me in judgment or not you have at least be- 
lieved that I was earnestly desirous to do right. 

Hoping that the feelings which these broken 
sentences very poorly express will be discovered 
by you from your knowledge of my heart, and 
with fullest confidence in your faithfulness and 
your sympathy and affection, I am 

—very unworthily—and very 
affectionately but not insincerely— 
Yours 
Bertram Buack 


(Apparently the appeal to the Governor for a 
pardon, was not successful; and Bertram Black 
served his term.) 


Nov. 1, 1887. 
My prear Dr. Hovucuton 


Every word that you said on Sunday was well 
said and true. I know that you did not like to 


182 The Little Church Around the Corner 


say it,—but I trust it is having a good effect. 
All the money I had in the world was $5.73. I 
felt none the poorer when I came out of Church 
with the 73 cents. Today is pay day, and, as I 
do not expect to be in town next Sunday, I make 
haste to enclose $20. which you may call pew 
rent—or what you please. I call it love money. 
I dare make no promises farther than that I 
will give what Ican. The pleasure of giving is so 
great that it is impossible to regard it as in any 
sense self-denial. 
With much love—as ever 
BERTRAM BLACK. 


es 


Of “the murder of Mr. Seymour,”’ which Ber- 
tram Black, in his letter to Dr. Houghton, describes 
as ‘“‘another of those strange experiences which so 
often come to your lot,’ I have been unable to 
learn anything. Like so many other of his “strange 
experiences,” it must remain unwritten history. 


“HOME IS THE SAILOR, HOME FROM 
THE SEA” 


A vUsEFUL, kindly, cheerful old age!—what a 
service to one’s fellows, this practical, actual 
demonstration of the liveableness of life! How 
much more wholesome for a humanity that—like 
it or not—must live and labor, a robust, masculine 
spirit, than the whining, shirking spirit that infects 
the world today! “The life speaks so much 
louder and more impressively than the lips.” 
And the life of this old parson-man said: “I have 
run a long race: my withers are still unwrung.”’ 

The ’50s, the ’60s, the ’70s, the ’80s passed, the 
"90s were in the passing, the Twentieth Century 
was at hand, and Dr. Houghton was still at his 
task, his heart still in his task: seventy-one years 
old, forty-three years of toil in the Transfiguration 
vineyard behind him, the anniversary of 1891 
found him asking that he “‘might be permitted to 
see seven more of these anniversaries, and so reach 
the fiftieth anniversary of the church.” 

The more credit to him!—if any one in Life’s 
Regiment is to be pardoned the sniffing word, it 
should be he whom duty has called to witness so 

183 


184 The Little Church Around the Corner 


much of suffering and sorrow and sin, to hear so 
much of weeping, to see so much of the cross- 
purposes of hope and fate! 

He was a man who valued old associations, old 
friendships, a man who knew the poignancy of 
‘auld lang syne.” 

In 1885: 


There may be two, not more, beside myself, 
here today who took part in that service seven 
and thirty years ago. 


Three years later: 


There is not so much as one of those who 
joined with the Rector in that service, here 
present today. 


And, less than two months before his own death: 


Forty-nine years! It is a long period to look 
back upon. The years are more in number 
than those of an ordinary life. The Baptisms, 
the Confirmations, the Admissions to the Blessed 
Sacrament of the Body and Blood of the Lord 
that have taken place; the Ministrations to the 
sick and the dying that have hence freely gone 
forth; the Burials of the dead—all these are too 
many to be recalled. And I would not recall 
them if I could. For while the Church has 


‘Home is the Satlor, Home from the Sea’’ 185 


stood, and while the works remain and are 
treasured up with God, where are those who 
were with me in the beginning and for many, 
many years after, and, humanly speaking, 
wrought with me in the doing of the things that 
have here been done? They are gone, gone, 
gone, sleeping in their graves the world over; 
and I am left, alone, in the midst of a new gen- 
eration—thanks be to God!—of loved and loving 
ones. 


But Memory is a wilful servant: it has a way of 
bringing unbidden guests from out the dead past. 


I am not one of the best of sleepers, and often, 
almost as a rule, lie wakeful for two and some- 
times three of the hours that follow the mid- 
night. And once and again, as I do so, there 
come before me the faces of one and another of 
those who have been here, during the many 
years that God has preserved me alive in this my 
only Charge, and are gone—the faces of those by 
whose dying beds I have stood and over whom 
I have seen the grave close; of those who once 
here have sought elsewhere their spiritual home; 
those to whom I am permitted still to minister; 
those who are sick; those who are in trouble; 
those who are at sea; those who have fallen into 
sin. And the heart goes up with a “The Lord 
bless thee and keep thee.” 


186 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Unlike the average parson or priest, it was not 
only the dying among his own parishioners, whose 
last days or hours or minutes he was summoned to 
comfort, but also the mortal passing of strangers, 
the number of these latter rapidly increasing with 
the spreading reputation for spiritual hospitality 
of The Little Church Around the Corner. A task? 
—this oft-repeated presence in the chamber of 
death, this ministering of the Last Rites with its 
unescapable witnessing of death-agonies, hearing 
of death rattles? No—a privilege! An old man, 
himself looking death in the face, who confessed to 
sharing “‘the natural shrinking from death,” who 
called death “‘The King of Terrors’’; but was he not 
a Shepherd of the Lord? Let his physical shrink- 
ing be what it might, was there not on every death- 
bed an Immortal Soul that should be saved to the 
Fold? A task? No—a privilege! 


What a privileged parish has this of the Trans- 
figuration been in ministering the last things at 
the last to those who sought them only at the 
last!) What a record of last Words, last Prayers, 
last Sacraments, last Absolvings, and last Bless- 
ings—last Departs—*‘ Depart, O Christian soul, 
in the Name of God the Father Almighty who 
created thee; in the Name of Jesus Christ His 
Son, who suffered for thee; in the Name of the 
Holy Ghost who hath poured His grace into thee 
—one holy and eternal God—to whom be glory 


I9D1IOD 3} punoly YIINYD 91331] sy 2uls9}uq qniO ,sisAv[q 9a 
£6gr ‘6 sunf ‘yjoog ulMpy jo [vloung oy] 














: pl eee GR 7 
—) enon ak |” 

7) eens et Se bs an 
oe aS 7 _ ie a ay 


| atoll 7 












‘‘ Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 187 


forever and ever. Amen. And may thy place 
be this day in peace, and thy habitation in 
Paradise.” 


Let the rasping be on the body or on the soul, 
frequent repetition is apt to produce callousness. 
Yet the frequent contact with death never dulled 
Dr. Houghton’s realization of the sorrow it 
wrought: unto the end, he could “go with you 
with the fullness of sympathy, to the graves where 
you leave your hearts with your loved ones.”’ 


I have an old clipping (from The New York Times 
I think). It quotes an old lady: 


I have always been a Methodist, but to me no 
minister can take the place of Dr. Houghton. 
We had to remain in the city one summer and my 
first baby died. Our church was closed and our 
minister had gone to Europe. We couldn’t find 
a minister to conduct the funeral. I was heart- 
broken. Somebody suggested sending for Dr. 
Houghton of the Little Church Around the Cor- 
ner. I didn’t believe he would come to a “‘dis- 
senter’s’’> home, but he came at once, and it 
seemed to me that no one could have comforted 
meso much. He knew just what to say and do. 
He made me feel that I was the mother of an an- 
gel. The darkness all vanished, and I could keep 
up and comfort my family instead of, breaking 


188 The Little Church Around the Corner 


down. I have always been a working member 
in my own church, but no minister ever seemed 
to me like Dr. Houghton. 


In his latter years, with their long stretches of 
ill-health, there was some laxity in the old rule to 
destroy all letters received by him. Among the 
letters of this period that have come into my 
hands, there are many, many black-bordered ones 
that carried touchingly heartfelt messages of 
thanks. 

Even better than these letters is this indirect 
evidence, extracts from two addresses: 


“Then said Elkanah her husband to her, 
Hannah, why weepest thou? and why eatest 
thou not? and why is thy heart grieved? am not 
I better to thee than ten sons?” 

It is meet and right that, in our bereavement 
and whatsoever deprivations and trials, we 
should be mindful of what God in His goodness 
has left to us; of what are the compensations— 
for there are such in all things—that come with 
our trials; and of the good that is to spring from 
the evil. But grief must have its way for a 
while. And Elkanah comfort—he seemed to 
have a comfortable opinion of himself, “better 
than ten sons!’—the which Hannah in her 
honesty did not admit—Elkanah comfort is not 
the kind of comfort for the first: as the comfort 


‘Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 189 


of Job’s comforters is no comfort from first to 
last. One thing is not another. A wife is a 
wife, and a husband is a husband. But a wife 
is not a child, and a husband is not achild. And 
when baby lies dead on mother’s lap, though 
never so lovely and loved and loving a Johnny 
and a Sally are pulling at the apron-strings 
there is no use in reminding the mother that she 
still has Johnny and Sally. She knows it and 
loves them none the less. But Johnny is Johnny 
and Sally is Sally. But neither of them is baby. 

Many a heart is well nigh broken afresh— 
and a broken heart is worse than a broken head— 
by the precious balms, as they mean them to be 
and think them to be, of many a well meaning 
but unwise comforter. 

I remember a story that my mother told me. 
She said that when her mother died, the deacons 
of the town (it was a New England town) came 
to pay a visit of condolence to her father, their 
fellow-deacon. Presently arrived for the same 
purpose the village Parson. He was quite young 
and no great favorite with the grey-haired 
visitors. He took the old man tenderly by the 
hand, and then without the endeavor with many 
common-places to improve the occasion, or the 
callmg upon Brother Brown to lead in prayer, 
he sat down in a silence that was somewhat 
protracted. After a while up and spoke one of 
the Deacons, and thus interrupted the solemn 


190 The Little Church Around the Corner 


silent session: “‘Parson! don’t you think it was 
rather queer that when Job’s friends came to 
comfort him they sat down three days without 
saying a word?”’ 

Said the Parson, though young, yet equal to 
the occasion: “It may seem strange that they 
should have done so, but I think that it would 
have been better for Job had they sat three days 
longer in silence, than when they spoke to have 
spoken as they did.” 

From the ever-full yet ever-welling heart of 
the sincere though silent sympathizer, through 
the eyes, the hand, from the presence, goes forth 
to the broken in heart a calming, grief-assuaging 
influence more salutary than that which at first 
can come from any Elkanah comfort. 


I remember once standing in a private ceme- 
tery just at evening, while a grave was filling. 
The skies were leaden. The rain was falling. 
And all was so dreary, so gloomy. Just then a 
robin from a tree right over the grave burst out 
into a singing that seemed to have in it all the 
soul of all the singing of all our dear chorister 
boys and men when singing at their best Te 
Deum Laudamus or Magnificat or “ The King of 
Love my Shepherd 1s.’ That robin was Mozart 
and Mendelssohn and Handel and Haydn, and 
all the rest of them, all in one. Nay, he sang 
as if he were an Angel that had descended from 


** Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 191 


the Heavenly song-world to cheer us with his 
singing. Away went the gloom. Away went 
the dreariness. No longer seemed to be heard 
the fall of the earth upon the coffin. 


Seventy years old when he spoke those words! 
No way-worn spirit, no shriveling of the sym- 
pathies, no callousness of the heart! Age turns 
some wines into vinegar; others, it mellows. 


What a chorus of woe, the postman, with his 
blithe whistle, left behind him in the Twenty-ninth 
Street Rectory! 

Begging letters: 

*‘Please do not drop this until you read my plea” 
—a dismal tale of a bankrupt parish in the heart 
of the Alleghaney Mountains. 

*‘ Although it is now so long since I have heard 
directly from you, yet I have not forgotten your 
many kindnesses and good words sent to me, there- 
fore, I venture to ask your assistance today in a 
matter of special and urgent necessity ’’—a request 
from a woman, “without permanent work all this 
winter,’ for a personal loan to save old family 
silver from sale by money-lenders with whom it 
was pledged. 

Forlorn letters: 

“May I not ask for your special prayer for one 
who is widowed and childless and terribly sad at 
heart in this season of joyfulness to so many’’— 


192 The Little Church Around the Corner 


the moan of one whom Thanksgiving Day had 
made more acutely aware of her loneliness. 

“Doubtless you are daily in receipt of these 
doleful letters from sorrowful women who in deep 
affliction in a last extremity turn to the Christian 
stranger ’’—husband bedridden, wife an invalid, no 
money, “‘two dear little ones to provide for.” 

Were all these letters answered? 

Only the Recording Angel knows positively; but 
there are letters that give hint of the truth. 

From an Englishman whose mother had died in 
New York, a stranger among strangers: 


I cherish with much care the little book of 
hymns you sent me on my dear Mother’s death; 
which she had used during her illness, and 
marked by her hands as indicating her favorite 
Hymns. 


A small thing; but how many of us would have 
had the thoughtfulness to realize what that little 
book might mean to the son? 

From a woman in Georgia: 


I can not tell you what a delightful surprise, 
the reception, yesterday, of the box you so kindly 
sent me, was to all of us. The dresses, with a 
few alterations, will fit my daughters, as if made 
for them, and each is delighted to have an out- 
fit for the winter, with hats too. . . . Myson 


** Home ts the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 193 


has never had an overcoat and has been wanting 
one for a long time. I can not thank you 
enough. . . . I was so glad for that nice 
warm cloak for myself... . The tea was 
most acceptable too as I had been wanting 
some so much... . 


That package of tea! the man who remembered 
to include that bit of cheer had the spirit, not of 
one doling out charity, but of a Santa Claus filling 
a Christmas stocking. 

From one of his own sermons: 


It greatly touched me once, I remember, when 
told of a farmer, who when dying—it was just 
at evening—asked: “Have the animals been 
fed?” In his own last distress he was mindful 
of the wants of the poor dumb creatures. 


In the business of living, kindliness was Dr. 
Houghton’s cardinal principle; a thing he preached, 
a thing he practised. 

Of only one thing did he ever complain of being 
weary—the appealing to his congregation for cash. 
For thirty-odd years the Transfiguration had been 
“a, rich man’s church,” and yet the necessity for 
ministerial begging had always been present. 

Dr. Houghton believed that God should be 
worshipped in a place as little unworthy as possible 
of the Presence: if the purse permitted no other 


194 The Little Church Around the Corner 


place of worship than a barn, then a barn was a 
right and proper place, but if the purse permitted 
something better, then to worship in a barn were 
irreverence. 

As his congregation grew in wealthy member- 
ship, so he made its spiritual home commensur- 
ably beautiful. 


Note chiefly and above all, that which is 
Transfiguration’s crowning feature, that which 
is impressed first and at once upon every be- 
holder: that the general air and effect of this 
Place, are unmistakably what they should be, 
those of a House of Prayer, of a Place for the 
Worship of Almighty God; that this is none 
other but the House of God, and the Gate 
through which Te Deum and Miserere, through 
which praise and prayer are to ascend up to 
Heaven. 

. a place where all is reverence; a place 
where there is nothing to offend proper taste and 
religious sensibility, but much to foster them; 
much through them to lift the soul heavenward, 
where to this end, there are sacred pictures and 
memorial windows, lights and flowers, colors to 
mark the changing seasons, Garments of beauty 
and holiness for those who minister at the Altar, 
the white-robed choristers and the processional 
cross; a place outside whose door the World, and 
Wall Street and Washington are left. 


** Home is the Satlor, Home from the Sea’’ 195 


. But pains above all pains should be 
taken that whatever is read or said or sung in 
the House of God, be read or said or sung in a 
manner as little unworthy as possible of the Place 
and of the Presence. It was the learned Dr. 
South, who, when told by a certain illiterate 
preacher that the Almighty needed no man’s 
learning, or wisdom, or eloquence, replied: 
“Neither does the Almighty need any man’s 
ignorance, or foolishness, or stammering.” 


In 1881 there had been introduced in the Church 
of the Transfiguration, a surpliced choir of men 
and boys, in those days an innovation in the Epis- 
copal Church in this country. It was a feature in 
“the revival of the significant, helpful practices 
and observances of the Church Catholic,” a move- 
ment in which Dr. Houghton was a pioneer spirit. 


In all the world is there any such singing as 
the singing of those who have sung, since the 
Holy Ghost descended, of the Passion, the 
Resurrection, the Ascension, the Judgment? 
Any strains of music to compare with those of 
Handel, and Haydn, and Mozart, and Beethov- 
en, and Bach, and Sphor? Is there anything to 
equal the Psalms of David? The songs of 
Bernard of Cluny, the Dies Irae, the Stabat 
Mater, the medieval hymns of Aquinas and 
others? The hymns, many of them with which 


196 The Little Church Around the Corner 


we are familiar, as found in hymns Ancient and 
Modern, and even in our Protestant Episcopal 
Hymnal? 


A beautiful church, a beautiful service of music 
(and don’t let us forget, a rectory with night-bell 
and speaking tube) a wealthy congregation in the 
pews, but a shortage of cash in the church treas- 
ury! 

To one who stands upon the sidelines of the 
religious field, it is an inexplicable thing that people 
who lavish money upon temporal homes, should 
default in their installment payments on their 
mansions in the skies. 

The old rector did not mince his words: 


We can go to the country and deny ourselves 
no manner of thing that is good; we have our 
yachts and carriages, and horses and dogs; sub- 
scribe to our oratorios; go to matinees; have 
fine dinners and entertainments; give luncheons 
at Delmonico’s; belong to this club and that 
club—pay our dues like men; smoke the best 
and costliest of cigars; drink the choicest of 
champagnes and burgundies; wear our diamonds 
and rings, and laces and silks; fill the air around 
us with our high-priced perfumes; live at hotels 
and in luxurious apartments: and do our only 
retrenching in the things that pertain to God 
and His Church. 


‘‘Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 197 


At another time: 


Don’t let us come here Sunday after Sunday, 
brethren, or even occasionally, and sit up as fine 
and fair as you please in our silks and our broad- 
cloths, with our watches and our jewelry, and 
say what a lovely church! what charming devo- 
tional pictures! what delightful music! if it 
happens so to be: and when the bason is brought 
to us for our offerings for God, Who giveth us all 
things, and for His poor, have no more for that 
offering than a single car fare; some of us no 
more than a shake or a turning away of the 
head. Ah! brethren, we have each of us soon a 
longer journey than a five-cent journey to take, 
and an account to render at its end to Him Who 
said: “Inasmuch as ye did it not unto one of 
the least of these, my brethren, ye did it not 
unto Me. I was an hungered, and ye gave me 
no meat.” And what if He then turn His face 
from us? 

Let us make our offering, remembering that 
God’s eyeis upon us. Suppose the bason should 
sound aloud in the ears of all here the name of 
each of us who gave or refused, and the sum given 
by each—as it does surely in the hearing of God? 


At still another time: 


The Rector, as he has grown old, has grown 
weary of appealing. He can appeal no more. 


198 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Circulars, words from the Chancel, have ever 
brought comparatively little in response. Here, 
as probably elsewhere, the giving, in any marked 
measure or due proportion, is confined to the 
very few. A year since, in answer to all that 
was said about the music, and to the appeal 
that was put forth, there were but twenty-nine, 
the Treasurer says, that made any response. 


It was no exorbitant demand that he made upon 
the seekers of Life Eternal. “The rule is simply, 
‘Be merciful after thy power’—according to thy 
ability, not beyond it, but fully up to it.” “Let 
us give with some consistency; according to what 
we have; according to what we spend for our own 
gratification, for our enjoyments, our food’’—for 
them to be as liberal with God as they were with 
their stomachs. 

He asked for no asceticism, put no prohibition 
upon the good things of earth; nay! he counted 
them among the bounties of God, things put here 
to make glad the way. 


There is nothing amiss in one having a colored 
man behind the chair at dinner, and a dinner of 
terrapin and turkey, with something from God’s 
vineyards to moisten them, and wearing gay 
clothing, and having a house on the Avenue, if 
God have given the means therefor, provided 
one proportion his alms—that which he gives 


MEMORIAL 
WINDOW 






EDWIN BOOTH 








‘ce es Sas 19)9 te ” 
AS RICHELIEU AS HAMLET 


The Booth Memorial Window in The Little Church Around the Corner 


The man, and three of his characterizations 





‘Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 199 


to the poor—and his oblations—that which he 
offers to God for sacred purposes—to his estate. 


Many, many, there are who need the Theatre, 
when that Place and its surroundings are what 
they might be, are what they should be, and 
what in many instances they are, and are more 
and more becoming. They need that Place for 
refreshment, for relief, for forgetfulness, for the 
brightening of a sometime dullness, for mstruc- 
tion, for the learning of many a good lesson, for 
the quickening sometimes to something better 
in the living. 

And so I say to those who count my counsel 
worth having: Yes, go to the Theatre, if the 
Place and surroundings be what they should be, 
if the play be proper, if the Actors be not men 
and women who are notorious for immorality, 
if the season be suitable, and the evening be not 
one that should be elsewhere and otherwise 
spent. Yes, go, if these things be so; but go 
with moderation. 


Trinity Cuurcy Rectory, 
Hosoken, N. J. 


Dear UNCLE 

I have fifteen of those volumes of the Lives 
of the English Saints. St. Bega is in Volume 
VI. 

Shall I fetch over the fifteen volumes on 
Monday? 


200 )0« «s-« Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


We are all well. Mary and Gertrude send 
love. Can’t we get you over to spend some day 
or a portion of some day with us? Would a 
clam chowder tempt you ? 

Affectionately 
Your nephew 
GEORGE 


There you have a thumb-nail sketch of Dr. 
Houghton: a man who could appreciate the lives 
of the saints in fifteen volumes, but who also could 
be tempted by a clam chowder; an all-round man, 
practical idealist, sky-pilot with his feet on the 
ground—the saints are fine, so also is a clam 
chowder—“‘Time is passing! Eternity is coming!” 
but meanwhile, men have stomachs that God gave 
them. “We are all,’—Bishops and Rectors and 
laymen—“‘poor critters.’ ”’ 

A goodly number of lads came each Sunday to 
the early Celebration, and lest there might not 
be time for them to go home for breakfast and 
return for the mid-day Service, they were pro- 
vided with a “beefsteak breakfast”’ in the Rectory. 
“Fourteen young Churchmen got around eight 
pounds of steak and fixings at breakfast,” he 
wrote in a letter. In another: “Eleven lads came 
in for breakfast; steak, chops, hominy, bread, 
butter and coffee went down before them like 
grass before the mower’s scythe; we shall be 
obliged to enlarge the table.” 


‘‘ Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’? 201 


Despite all that he had witnessed of suffering and 
sorrow and sin, all that he had heard of weeping, 
all that he had seen of the cross-purposes of hope 
and fate—despite all this and his fullness of sym- 
pathy for all this, he never let life become The 
Dolorous Way. Like every genuinely kindly man, 
he was a cheerful man: a smiling eye is one of man’s 
benefactions to his fellows. 


Always make we all, each the heart of the 
other to sing with our kindliness of thought, 
look, word and deed. You have heard of the 
widow’s heart singing for joy. Well, of human 
things, it is the kindliness of others that tunes 
it up, and gives to it the festal pitch. 


In a previous chapter we saw Mother Houghton 
writing to Son George, asking him to curb his 
“love of fun” when Brother Edward came to visit 
him in New York. Three score years passed. 
Bald, grey-whiskered; but a joke was still a de- 
light, a thing to be shared at the dinner table, 
served up with many a chuckle. 

The Duke of Newcastle was once a visitor at the 
Rectory. Time passed; many other visitors came 
to the Rectory; but the card of the Duke of New- 
castle always remained, face up, on top of the cards 
in the basket in the front hall. Dr. Houghton had 
reason to suspect that that card was being kept “‘on 
dress parade”’ by a maiden lady relative who lived 


202 - Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


with him. One day he bought a pack of plain 
visiting cards; upon each card he wrote a royal 
name—Queen of Sheba, Rameses I, Queen Eliza- 
beth, and so on—and distributed the cards in vari- 
ous prominent places. What that maiden rela- 
tive said, or what she did with the cards when she 
came home and discovered them, history sayeth 
not. But thereafter, Dr. Houghton would ask 
every now and again (his eyes belying his solemn 
face): “Did Miss ever tell you of the after- 
noon she had so many distinguished callers?”’ 

I have a volume of addresses that he made in his 
old age. In them, he quotes from many books: 
Homer’s Iliad, Virgil’s Aineid, Jowett’s Thucydides, 
Aristophanes’ The Clouds, the Song of Solomon, 
the Book of Job, Jeremy Taylor’s Holy Dying, and 
so on. But the book from which he quotes most 
is Nights with Uncle Remus. He calls it “a book 
for all’; speaks of “‘our wise and funny old friend 
Uncle Remus.” 

Of an evening, when nephews and nieces and 
their children came a-visiting at the Rectory, he 
delighted to have them gather round him, while, 
with a candle on the table at his elbow (it was in the 
days of the uncompromising gas-bracket) he read 
aloud the doings of “Brer Fox,”’ ““Brer Rabbit”’ 
and the rest of Uncle Remus’ delightful friends. 

There may be some old parishioners who can 
recall George, the colored boy in livery of blue with 
bright metal buttons, who for a time answered the 





** Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 203 


door bell at the Rectory. He had been brought 
up in the Transfiguration Sunday School; the 
Rector was his Godfather. Unfortunate in ap- 
pearance, feeble in body and head, there was no 
place for him in the jostling world. Dr. Houghton 
made him the Rectory “buttons.” The livery 
was bought because it delighted the heart of 
George. He was fond of going to parties, so Dr. 
Houghton also bought him a dress suit. George’s 
misdeeds were frequent. A sample: he painted 
his name in red on the Rectory chimney. Finally, 
a misdeed so flagrant that Dr. Houghton said: 
“George, this is beyond me. You'll have to go to 
Miss Anna.’ (The Rector’s niece who, since the 
death of his wife, had managed the household.) 
Miss Anna began to recount to George his many 
sins. But George interrupted: “‘Miss Anna, say 
no more. What I say is, let bygones be bygones.” 
Miss Anna repeated that to Dr. Houghton, and 
George kept his job. He kept it until disease 
made it necessary to make other provision for him. 
He was taken to the Colored Home; and there, 
until the end came, he had a frequent visitor in Dr. 
Houghton. He was buried from the Church, and 
his body lies in the Church’s lot in Saint Michael’s 
Cemetery, beside those of George and Elizabeth 
Wilson, the old pew-openers. 


A rich man’s church only if noses were counted, 
the animating spirit of the church ignored! 


204 The Little Church Around the Corner 


There were societies, Sunday School classes, for 
the poor, for those whose skin was white and those 
whose skin was black. In the church there were 
free sittings for one hundred and fifty—more than 
one-tenth its seating capacity. Possibly some of 
the pew-holders jealously guarded their “‘little 
pens”? from the intrusion of the poor, from the 
intrusion of the stranger; but let the stranger, the 
poor man, the black man, ring the Rectory bell, 
no “butting horns” greeted him. 


When I was a lad,—and that was years, years, 
years ago, I need scarcely say !—and was coming 
from the dry-dreary sand fields where I had been 
trying to graze hitherto into the green meadow 
pasture land of the Church, my first shepherd, 
the then good, kindly, rector of a parish here in 
this town, appointed me a feeding spot not far 
from the pulpit from which he was wont to feed 
his sheep with the food that is always most 
convenient and nourishing, 1.e., the unfolding 
of Holy Scripture. I shrunk on the first Sunday 
from going forward to a place so conspicuous, 
and asking the sacristan to put me elsewhere, 
he set me down in a large empty pew midway 
down one of the alleys. As the service was 
proceeding, the owner of that bit of God’s House 
came to the door, opened it wide and holding it 
so, looked at me and then at the space made by 
the out-swung door, which he evidently wished 


‘* Home is the Sailor, Home from the Hea’’ 205 


me, in passing through, transiently to occupy. 
There was room enough in that pew almost to 
have lain ourselves down, if disposed, and slept. 
But I staid not on the order of my going, but 
went with all noiseless speed through the open- 
ing made for me and made for another door, the - 
church door. I did not reach it, however, for a 
hospitable hand was laid upon my shoulder and 
I found elsewhere the welcome just denied 
me. 

The face of that fellow-sheep who ordered me 
out from his little pen, who bade me go grazing 
elsewhere, was so photographed in my remem- 
brance, that long years after (though now many 
years ago)—since I have been rector here—I 
was wont to recognize it again and again on the 
near by avenue, and, as I did so, to wonder 
whether that fellow-sheep recalled in mine the 
face of the sometime lamb, so to speak, for 
whom in those far gone days he had only the 
shaking of his head and the butting of his horns. 
I see that face now no more on the avenue or 
any elsewhere. So I trust that that fellow- 
sheep is now safe in the fold and pasture of 
Paradise, where to every one who enters there 
is only welcome most loving from the Shepherd 
and from all the sheep. 


In the chapter, “The Kindly Folk,’’ I mentioned 
a one-time shortage in church funds, part of that 


206 «6 Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


shortage representing arrears in the rector’s salary; 
and I told how, when “The Kindly Folk”’ learned 
of it, they over-subscribed the deficiency. 

How many times Transfiguration let Dr. Hough- 
ton’s salary fall into arrears, Ido not know. Only 
one treasurer’s statement has come into my hands: 
“Easter 1895 to Easter 1896.” That statement 
shows that the arrears in the rector’s salary for the 
previous year had been paid in full, but that the 
salary for the current year was almost entirely 
unpaid. | 

There is an undated letter to Dr. Houghton, 
from Charles N. Kent, the church treasurer. 
Hither the 1896 arrearage was allowed to grow, or 
the letter referrs to still another financial back- 
sliding on the part of the church. 


I am heartsick over your proposition to give 
to the Church the arrears due you—now amount- 
ing to $9,500! Surely never did one ever give 
so much in love and affection, prayers and good 
counsel to a parish as you have given and are 
still giving at Transfiguration. It is something 
that money can never repay, but money should 
pay for it as far as possible. If the case were 
stated to the parish, it seems sure the amount 
would be made good but I want to follow your 
wishes in this and all matters. It is surely from 
no lack of love or affection for you that these 
shortcomings arise. 


** Home ts the Sailor, Home from the Sea’’ 207 


Back in 1879, Transfiguration Parish had pur- 
chased four lots in Sixty-ninth Street, then in the 
outskirts of the city, and there built a chapel. 
This was made what Dr. Houghton had desired 
Transfiguration to be, a free church—no rented 
pews, no owners of “little pens,” no possibility of 
“butting horns”’ for the stranger who had come 
into “‘God’s House.” But the chapel did not 
prosper. The vestry wanted to sell it. 

In 1896, Mr. Kent wrote Dr. Houghton: 


I know the Chapel is a painful subject. But 
I do believe that if it were disposed of, as pro- 
posed, you will be relieved of a heavy load, and 
Transfiguration placed in a position where the 
work can surely go on, without such a heavy 
tax—indeed without any tax upon the Rector’s 
purse. That is what I want to see! And if 
the chapel should be sold, I am sure out of the 
proceeds the vestry will insist upon paying to 
you all your advances—with which, of course, 
you can then do as you please. 


From a memorandum left for vestry-meeting, by 
William C. Prime, another staunch friend of the 
Rector’s, who was to be absent from the city: 


If the chapel property be sold . . . every 
dollar which Dr. Houghton has given to it should 
be repaid to him. This is absolute. He gave 


208 =—s- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


it for a purpose. That purpose ends with the 
sale. The money is due to him, and the vestry 
should insist, and take no refusal, that Dr. 
Houghton accept this payment. . . . 


Never of robust health, age brought several long 
stretches of illness. He knew the twilight of the 
long night had come. For near a score of years, 
he had made an annual address to St. Anna’s 
Guild. In the last of them—that of 1896—he 
spoke “‘on the subject of praying for the faithful 
departed.” 

The last paragraph of that last address: 


In conclusion, 1f a word personal may be 
spoken, and a request personal may be made: 
when on some soon coming night the doorbell of 
the Rectory of this Church be rung, and no 
longer as hitherto before its last sound has 
ceased the window from above be lifted by the 
hand that has been wont to lift it, and voice no 
longer be heard that has been wont to be heard, 
asking if there be sick or dying to be visited: or 
when you come hither on some soon coming day 
for the ministrations that are needed, and are 
told that the one, who has hitherto been so 
thankful to give them, has gone to the country, 
to the country that lies beyond the seas and the 
sunset, gone not for a summer holiday, but for 
all days and for all seasons, gone to return hither 


** Home is the Satlor, Home from the Sea’’ 209 


again no more, let it be a time not for tears but 
for prayer. If the tears must needs fall from 
any eyes, let them fall like the drops of the Sum- 
mer shower, if abundant, yet soon to be followed 
by the lasting sunshine; but whenever thought 
returns of the hither never more returning one, 
let the prayer fail not to go up from the hearts 
of all who hold him in loving remembrance: 
“Grant him, Lord, eternal rest: and let light 
perpetual shine upon him.” 


An old man, sick, aware the grave was soon to 
open for him, but still dreaming of the perfecting 
of the house of worship that he had loved so long 
and so well. 

He had long wanted the Church to become the 
owner of the house adjoining the church to the 
east, so “that we might there find the ample room 
we need for our schools and guilds and societies, 
and for our choir, so that our Sanctuary may be 
deepened and receive the dignity which it needs 
and be made more convenient and fit for its high 
and holy use.”’ In 1893, seventy thousand dollars 
was laid upon the Altar. It was the gift of an old 
and staunch parishioner, Sarah Jane Zabriskie. 
The long-coveted house and lot became Church 


property. 


There still remains the fulfilling of the dream— 
another dream—of years, years, long, long gone. 


210 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Will it indeed ever be fulfilled? Shall these old 
eyes be permitted to behold its fulfillment? 
The building of the porch-gate at the main 
entrance to the Church grounds, with its shelter- 
ing roof, its seat, its drinking font, its figure of 
the Lord with out-stretched welcoming arms, 
and its words: ““Come unto Me, all ye that are 
weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” 


Yes, those old eyes were permitted to behold the 
fulfillment of that dream of years, years, long, long 
gone. Through the beneficence of a parishioner, 
Mrs. F. M. Delano, the porch-gate was erected in 
1896. And those old eyes could “look upon 
Transfiguration”’ and see “the fulfillment of all 
that had been involved in an almost life-long 
desire.” 

One thing was denied: that he be permitted to 
“‘reach the fiftieth anniversary of the church.” 


A dead actor was brought hither to be buried. 
The evening before, a friend of his came to tell 
me how suddenly he had died, just as he returned 
from the photographers, where he had been taken 
as some king in some play, his favorite character, 
while, with out-stretched hand, he was saying, 
“THE Kineg Never Waits!”’ 

When I had finished the Burial Office, I said 
to the large congregation, that was seldom in a 
Church, unless at a funeral: “My friends, one 


‘* Home is the Sailor, Home from the Sea’ 211 


word. ‘Two voices came to us here today. The 
one from that coffin—from our dead brother. 
It says: ‘Tue Kitna Never Warts.’ The King 
of Terrors—Death—never waits for us. . . .” 


Less than eleven months to go, to turn the 
desired half-century mark! But THe Kine NEvER 
Wailrts. 

On November 17, 1897, Dr. Houghton was 
present at the early Celebration of the Holy Com- 
munion—7 A. M. At 9, he read Matins. His 
round of duties during the day. The shadows of 
the afternoon were deepening into twilight, when, 
suddenly, the inevitable summons came. He was 
hurried to his bedroom. Evensong was being read 
in the Chantry by one of the Curates. The Curate 
was called from the Chantry. As he entered the 
bedroom, he began the prayers for the dying. 

Two days later, in the little Chantry in which 
Dr. Houghton had so often said the daily Mass 
and Matins and Evensong, his body lay in its coffin. 

The doors of the Church were opened at ten in 
the morning. Rich, poor, white, colored, old 
folks, little children, the righteous and the frail, 
those who professedly trod the straight and nar- 
row way, those who openly walked the primrose 
path—the motley humanity of a great city—filed 
by the bier, took a last look at that kindly old face. 

What a synthesis of life, if one could tell the 
memories stirred by that leave-taking! 


212 «= The Little Church Around the Corner 


Thousands had passed by the open coffin when 
the church doors were closed at sunset. 

From nightfall to dawn, the sisters of Saint Mary 
kept vigil at the bier. 


“While thy soul is upward winging, 
Home through the night.”’ 


Early in the morning there were people waiting 
for the doors to be opened, toilers of the dark, who 
could come at no other hour to offer a prayer for 
their friend who was gone on the far journey. 

Many were in the Church at 7 a. Mm. when a 
Requiem Mass was celebrated. 

Before 10, the hour of the funeral, every seat in 
the church was occupied. Some hundreds stood 
in the street. 

The coffin was closed and covered with a black 
pall on which was embroidered the prayer that, 
not many months before, Dr. Houghton had asked 
the poor women, the tenement dwellers, members 
of St. Anna’s Guild, to offer when he had gone “‘to 
the country that lies beyond the seas and the sun- 
set:”” 


Grant him, Lord, eternal rest: and let light 
perpetual shine upon him. 


As the bier was borne from the Chantry, up the 
main aisle, the opening sentences of the Burial 


‘‘ Home ts the Satlor, Home from the Sea’’ 213 


Office, ““I am the Resurrection and the Life,” were 
read by the Bishop of the diocese, the Right 
Reverend Doctor Henry Codman Potter. 

Those whom a common sorrow had brought to 
The Little Church, included all sorts and condi- 
tions of men; but two professions were noticeable 
for the number of their distinguished members— 
the clerical and the theatrical. 

There were clergy representing the dioceses of 
New York, New Jersey, Long Island, Albany, 
Newark, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Connecticut, 
Massachusetts and Maine; there were delegations 
from the Lamb’s Club, the Players’ Club, the 
Twelfth Night Club, the Actors’ Fund, the Elks, 
and the Actors’ National Protective Union. 

Among the many floral pieces banked about the 
bier, was one from the New York Pilot Association, 
another from the New Jersey Pilot Association. 

Striking symbolism in those two flower gifts! 





Che Second Man 





MAXIMUS IN MINIMIS 


Ir I were to write an epitaph for Dr. George 
Clarke Houghton: 


In an Age of Brass, 
He Sang not of Himself. 





Dr. Houghton prepared notes for a history of 
The Little Church. The two hundred and ten 
pages of typewritten manuscript are apportioned— 


To his uncle’s rectorship..... 95 pages 
To a lovingly minute descrip- 

tion of the church....... Goins 
To his own rectorship....... 50° = 


Of those 50 pages, 15 are given to a description of 
memorials; 9, to parish activities; 8, to repairs and 
alterations made in the church; 6, to the observa- 
tion of Festival days; 6, to his experiences in mar- 
rying people; 2, to the testimonial given to Mr. 
Dod, organist and choirmaster, after twenty-five 

217 


218 The Little Church Around the Corner 


years of service; just 4 pages that are strictly bio- 
graphical. 


MeEmoriAts to His UNCLE 


A large bronze tablet placed in the vestibule 
of the church; 

A life-size, bronze bust, placed in the recess, 
where the nave and the transept join; 

A processional cross; 

Communion vessels embedded with precious 
stones; 

Endowment of the first pew in the Transept, 
always known as the “Rector’s Pew,”’ for the 
use of visiting clergy; 

A series of twelve windows on the north side 
of the Chantry; 

A fund for the purchase of Holy vessels for 
parishes unable to provide Holy vessels for 
themselves; 

A Mortuary Chapel. 


His own name he had lettered on the wooden 
bulletin-board. The only other thing that in any- 
wise directed attention to him personally, was a 
little sign which welcomed all those in “‘trouble, 
sorrow, need, sickness or any other adversity.” 

A short chapter; but it tells much. 


A VINEYARD IN HOBOKEN 


It is back in the early ’60s. 

A small boy, school books under his arm, opens 
the side-gate that leads to the Rectory of the 
Church of the Transfiguration. Immediately a 
window is raised in the Rectory, and a woman 
leans out. 

“Little boy! little boy! use the other gate!”’ 

The small boy turns back into Twenty-ninth 
Street, and, entering by the main gate, passes 
through the churchyard, to the parish school above 
the Chantry. 

The small boy is the Rector’s nephew; the 
woman at the window is the Rector’s wife. 

“Oh,” says she, later, “I thought it was one of 
the other school boys.” 

Sensitive, temperamental—that rebuff at the 
Rectory gate cut like a whiplash. The explana- 
tion 1s no balm to the sting. 

Three score years pass. 

The Rev. Dr. George Clarke Houghton, an old 
man, long an invalid, is leaving the Rectory with 
his daughter. It is one of the last times that he is 

219 


220 - Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


to pass through that side-gate. It gets in his 
way. 

“Pesky gate!’’ And the venerable clergyman 
gives it a kick. 

Says his daughter: “You never have liked that 
gate—have you?—little boy.” 

““No, I’ve always hated it. I always go out the 
other gate when I can.” 

A littie, human incident, typical of the man. 
No shining, spotless saint, but a real man: strong 
in much that needed strength, but enough of the 
weaknesses of every-day humanity to make him a 
brother of the rest of us. 

One of his foibles was a reticence about his age. 
An interviewer once tried to pry the information 
from him. 


The most definite thing that you can nail him 
down to is that he isn’t as old as the church 
itself. 

“How old, then, are you, Doctor?” he was 
asked. “Well, sir,’ said he, and the twinkle 
came into the eyes, “I'll tell you. I was just 
two years younger than my brother.” 

“Ah! And how old is your brother?”’ 

“Why, he’s dead.” 


It is a reticence that is in itself a confession. 
The school-boy will readily enough tell us his age. 
George Clarke Houghton was born in New York 


Q Vinepard in Hoboken 221 


City on December 17, 1850, a son of Frederick E. 
and Anne E. Dawson Houghton. The Dawsons, 
needless to say, were Scots. The family had 
settled in this country in the early part of the 
nineteenth century. 

Father and Mother Houghton wanted Son 
George to become a lawyer; and—tfreak of fate!— 
parental and filial desires ran on the same track. 
It was Uncle Houghton who threw the switch. 

The school connected with the Church of the 
Transfiguration was an excellent one. Edmund 
Burke, a noted teacher of his day, was principal. 
The Zabriskie, Gillespie, Kane, Curtis and other 
old families sent their sons to it. Of course, 
Nephew George attended. 

The Rector apparently had the desire—common 
among men—that there should be one of his own 
blood to carry on his work when Time should call 
upon him to put it down. He had no children of 
his own. What more natural than that he should 
adopt, for ecclesiastic inheritance, this favorite 
nephew? Young George was persuaded to study 
for the ministry. He matriculated at St. Stephen’s 
College, Annandale, graduating in 1867. He then 
entered the General Theological Seminary, New 
York. 

The Seminary occupies a block square in the 
heart of what, in years gone, was Chelsea Village, 
Manhattan Island—a district of old, squat, home- 
like red brick houses. It was there—and fitting 


922 —-_ The Little Church Around the Corner 


place it was—that Clement Moore wrote that 
classic: 


It was the night before Christmas, 
And all through the house, 

Not a creature was stirring, 

Not even a mouse. 


And in Chelsea Village, Romance with her bag 
of gay-colored gifts, awaited the divinity student. 

He was walking one night along Twentieth 
Street. 

A lighted window—a few chords on a piano— 
then a soprano voice singing one of Tom Moore’s 
old love ballads. It was a warm, caressing voice 
(at least, so 1t sounded in the ears of the divinity 
student)—a voice that seemed to sing, not from the 
printed note, but from the heart. And there and 
then, Romance opened her bag and gave him the 
precious gift. 

Who was she? 

How could he meet her? 

Inquiries finally brought him information as to 
the family living in the house from whence the 
voice had come: there were no daughters! 

Months passed. 

One evening, he dropped in at the Rectory for a 
gossip with Uncle George. He caught the Rector 
at the door: going to call on an old church friend, 
Talbot Pirsson—wouldn’t Nephew George come 
along? 


313 snoreid 94} JUN pNys Ayrararp 94} oAvS pue Seq Jay pousdo sduvWOY ‘udT} 
pue si0y} puy ‘“SpeI[eq BACT PO S,aIOOJ, WoOY Jo 9u0 Zursuls 9910 OUvIdoS B UdY}—ouvId B UO Sployd Maj V—MOPUIM pozYyIT] V 


UOSSIIg IaUIseID Arey WOJYSNOY IYIVIO 9sd109yH 








Q Winepard in Hoboken 223 


The Pirssons (Talbot and his two brothers Jo- 
seph Poole and John William Pirsson) were promi- 
nent churchmen, all of them members of Dr. Muh- 
lenberg’s Church of the Holy Communion, the 
church at which Rector Houghton had begun his 
ministerial career as curate. 

And when they called, the divinity student 
discovered that Talbot Pirsson had a daughter, 
Mary, whose figure was trim, whose eyes were 
blue and laughing. There was a piano in the 
parlor. One of those casual questions: Did Miss 
Mary sing? Yes, shesanginachurchchoir. And 
she sang that night. What was Balboa upon his 
peak in Darien?—had not the divinity student dis- 
covered the owner of THE Voice! 

And so they were married. 


SoME BarE BIOGRAPHICAL BONES 


Graduated from the General Theological Sem- 
inary, June, 1870. 

Ordained Deacon in the Church of the Trans- 
figuration by the Right Reverend Horatio 
Potter, Bishop of New York. 

The following year, advanced to the Priest- 
hood, also by Bishop Horatio Potter, the ordina- 
tion being held in St. Mark’s-in-the-Bouerie. 

Married, December 27, 1871. 

First work in the ministry, curate in Trinity 
Church, Trinity Parish, New York. 

Transferred to Saint Chrysostom’s Chapel, 


9924 The Little Church Around the Corner 


also in Trinity Parish, serving as associate Priest 


with the Reverend Thomas H. Sill 


He gained the reputation of being an energetic, 
effective worker. That reputation and two stories 
are all (from this period of early priesthood) that 
remain unburied by the dust of the years. 


First Story 


He had been in Orders but a short time. He 
wanted to learn to preach extemporaneously. The 
rector was to be absent one Sunday evening; the 
young priest was to occupy the pulpit. He pre- 
pared his sermon carefully, memorized it, delivered 
it without hitch to his wife. 

One of the front pews was rented by three sisters, 
maidens of uncertain age, who wore side-curls. 
Neither time nor religion had sweetened these 
three ladies. 

The Sunday night came. The novice entered 
the pulpit. He looked down. There sat the sisters, 
leaning back, mouths pursed. As he gave out his 
text, three fingers went into three side-curls and 
began to twirl. He gave out his text again—and 
still again. A row of maiden ladies with pursed 
mouths and twirling side-curls filled the whole 
church. His memory was a blank. In a cold 
sweat, he reached into his pocket and fished out 
his manuscript. 

It was his one attempt at an “‘extemporaneous”’ 


AG ‘Winepard in Hoboken 225 


sermon: throughout his many years in the pulpit, 
he always had his manuscript sermon in front of 
him. 


SECOND STORY 


The Reverend Thomas H. Sill had recently been 
blessed with a son. His associate in Saint Chry- 
sostom’s Chapel was asked to be godfather. | 

The day before the baptism, Godfather Hough- 
ton called at the Sill home and presented to the 
mother a box on which was the baptismal date in 
large letters. 

Mrs. Sill was touched, as women in like case are 
always touched; and in such key she thanked him. 

She opened the box. In it, a nice wooden fork 
and spoon. 

Deep embarrassment on the part of Mrs. Sill: 
had her thanks been such that they implied expec- 
tation of a valuable gift from the godfather? She 
stood, holding the wooden eating utensils, mur- 
muring: ““Oh, aren’t they pretty?” 

And then, from out a pocket, Godfather Hough- 
ton took another box. In it, silver knife, fork and 
spoon. 


In 1879, he was called to a vineyard in Hoboken. 

That city across the Hudson, had a cosmopolitan 
population, a large portion of Teutonic origin. It 
was not a promising seed-field for the Episcopal 
faith. 


226 )«=—- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


Trinity Church, Hoboken, had been erected in 
1855. Stone was the material out of which both 
church and adjacent rectory were built, the design 
Gothic, the result a credit to the architects, 
Deutsche and Dietz. Another result, a large 
debt. 

Twenty-four years later the church had about 
seventy-five communicants. Also, the large debt. 

Here was work for a worker. 

Houghton accepted the call. 

He toiled eighteen years in that vineyard, and 
the harvest was: 


A church free from debt; 

A church enlarged by a forty-foot addition at 
the chancel end; 

A church enriched by many beautiful gifts 
(among them—it is interesting to note—a 
reredos purchased by contributions from the 
couples whom Dr. Houghton had married); 

A parish house built; 

A congregation that included 650 communi- 
cants. 


He had also developed a couple of side vineyards. 
In 1884, he started the mission work of building up 
a run-down chapel in Weehawken; and, the follow- 
ing year, another in West Hoboken. He made 
both of these vineyards flourish. Grace Church, 
Weehawken, and Saint John’s Church, West 


A Winepard in Hoboken 227 


Hoboken, were independent parishes when Dr. 
Houghton left Hoboken. 

Nor must we overlook the building—building in 
the primitive sense of the word, a building with the 
hands—of the little church at Pine Hill, in the 
Catskill Mountains, where Dr. Houghton spent his 
vacations. ‘There was no church when he came; 
there was a church of rough bowlders and timbers 
when he left. One of his vestrymen, also on sum- 
mer vacation, toiled with him. Masons and car- 
penters were employed: doubtless they did the 
greater part of the actual construction. But if 
the clergyman and his vestryman were deficient 
in skill, their spirit was willing. Throughout the 
workday, in overalls, they heaved stone, mixed 
mortar, carried timber. I would be willing to 
wager that it was a job on which there was much in- 
dustry and much whistling. And when the rustic 
house of worship was finished, it was named after 
the church that Uncle Houghton, in the same spirit 
of cheerful toil, had builded on Twenty-ninth Street, 
New York. Bishop Henry Codman Potter, 
son of the old bishop, Horatio Potter, appointed 
Dr. George Clarke Houghton the priest in charge 
of the Church of the Transfiguration, Pine Hill. 


From a local newspaper, The Evening News, in 
an article reviewing Dr. Houghton’s work and 
wishing him Godspeed, when he finally gave ear 
to the call that took him from Hoboken: 


228 = « Dhe Little Church Around the Corner 


The doctor has organized many agencies of 
work among the poor of the city, and is the 
pioneer of the self-helpful works in Hoboken 
which help the poor by teaching them how to 
help themselves. ‘“‘House-work”’ classes have 
been formed to teach the children how to serve 
in every department of the household. “‘Moth- 
ers’ societies,’ sewing schools where graded 
lessons in sewing are given, dressmaking classes, 
millinery classes, cooking classes, etc., have 
been organized and valuable assistance given to 
the different members in the homes of the poor. 

In November, 1885, the State Board of Educa- 
tion of New Jersey elected him superintendent 
of public instruction of Hudson County, in 
which office he was promptly confirmed by the 
county board of freeholders. He has just 
resigned this position, after 12 years active 
work. The same year (1885) he was elected 
president of the Industrial Education Associa- 
tion of New Jersey, which has effected the intro- 
duction of manual training in Hoboken, Town 
of Union, Kearney, and elsewhere in Hudson 
County. Dr. Houghton was president of the 
Manual Training School of Hoboken, chaplain 
of the Widows’ Home in Bloomfield Street, and 
of the Second Regiment National Guard. 

He was also president of the Hudson County 
Teachers’ Association, warden of St. Catherine’s 
Home, councilor of Christ’s Hospital, member 


A Winepard in Boboken 229 


and councilor of the American Institute of Civics, 
member of the Academy of Social and Political 
Science, and examining chaplain of the diocese of 


Newark. 


Not a man who let his profession run him into a 
rut, but one who knew the breadth of the highway! 

Nothing reveals him better—a man alive to all 
the phases of life—than his catholic love for books: 
religion, philosophy, history, politics, education, 
art, music, poetry, fiction. I wonder how many 
there are who read ecclesiastical literature with an 
attentive eye, and fiction with the gusto of a school- 
boy! To Dr. Houghton, the characters in a story 
that he liked, were real people; he would get as 
much worked up over their fortunes, as though 
they were his neighbors on Washington Street, 
Hoboken. At the dinner-table, when the family 
gathered round the evening lamp, he discussed the 
plot, his likes and dislikes for the characters, tried 
to foretell the ending of the story. The announce- 
ment of the publication of a new book by a favorite 
author was like the promised visitation of an old 
friend: he anxiously awaited the day, disappointed 
if it were postponed. 

Of course a man who had allowed no withering 
of his youthful zest for the imaginative color of life, 
was fond of young folks—and the young folks were 
fond of him. 

Stevens Institute is in Hoboken. Henry Mor- 


230} «=«-: Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


ton, long its president, was a vestryman of Trinity 
Church; and during the eighteen years that Dr. 
Houghton was in Hoboken he preached many of 
the baccalaureate sermons. This was his formal 
contact with the students. But behind this, 
giving vitality to this, were the informal contacts. 
The ivy-covered rectory on Washington Street 
was like a chapter house of a student society. ‘The 
latch-string was always out, but Sunday night 
was the rallying time. After evening service, 
supper was served in the rectory, and often a score 
of Stevens boys helped serve and eat. Then, 
adjournment upstairs to the rector’s study, and 
pipes and tobacco and yarns. At these times Dr. 
Houghton was partial to ghost stories, told in the 
light of the dying embers on the hearth. 

To the boys, he was not Doctor Houghton but 
just ““Himself.”” That was his title, and it tells a 
lot. One is not surprised to learn of the influence 
he had on the boys, to learn that it was an influence 
that lasted through life. 

A score of boys who helped serve and eat! 
What a deal that tells us of the mistress of the 
rectory! 

Mrs. Houghton let the boys over-run the house, 
invade even the kitchen, make candy, mess up 
pots and pans. And—zenith of feminine hospital- 
ity to boys!—she let them use her sewing machine. 
Not only did she allow those barbarian feet upon 
that treadle usually sacrosanct to one and only 


A Vinepard in Hoboken 231 


one pair of feet, but she let the boys sew canvas, 
heavy canvas. They were going camping on Lake 
George, and they made their tents on Mrs. Hough- 
ton’s sewing machine. 

Husband, wife, and an only child, a girl in her 
mid-teens. Possibly the attention of more than 
one youth in that ember-lighted circle, wandered 
from the ghost in the story, to the girl in the 
study. 

Two of those things, so little in the telling, so big 
in the living: 

Mrs. Houghton did not give up her music when 
she married. She sang, to the end—usually the 
old ballads—just as she had sung when a maiden. 

Herself a great reader of fiction, the greatest joy 
that books gave her was the discovery of one that 
would delight her husband. So that she might 
bear home that quarry, she spent hours hunting in 
bookshops. . 

Yes, when Romance opened her bag in that old 
Chelsea Street and gave the divinity student her 
gay-colored gift, she gave—what unfortunately 
she does not always give—a gift that could stand 
the rubs of every-day existence, a gift that, to him 
to whom it was given, was still, after years of 
marriage, as gay-colored as he saw it in youth. 

That rectory in Hoboken was a home in the 
fullest, deepest significance of the word. 

Dr. Houghton received many calls to other 
parishes, but to them he turned a deaf ear. 


232 «§=6§ Whee Little Church Around the Corner 


In 1897 he was urged to come to the assistance 
of his uncle whose strength was rapidly failing. 

I have a memorandum, made January 1, 1897, 
by William C. Prime, to be read at a vestry meet- 
ing: 


It is time for his sake [the old rector’s| that 
he select a permanent assistant. For myself, 
if Dr. H. would approve, I could wish he might 
choose his nephew, the Rev. George C. Hough- 
ton, and let the inducement to him be the selec- 
tion of him as permanent assistant, and to suc- 
ceed his uncle, who in the ordinary course will 
leave the church in the next ten or fifteen years. 


His uncle asked him to accept the call: “Only 
you can give me the needed assistance in carrying 
on my work.” 

Dr. Houghton began his work as vicar of The 
Little Church Around the Corner, November 2, 
1897, just two weeks and a day before Death 
visited its rectory. 


SOCRATES PUT TO PARISH USE 


To be the successor of George Hendric. Hough- 
ton was no easy task. The unique place that the 
old rector had won in the affection of the public, 
might have lured some to attempt imitation. 
Others, finding themselves in that parish upon 
which the limelight shone, might have been 
tempted to play “the new broom’’—sweep down 
the old cobwebs, display their own briskness. 

George Clarke Houghton was a man of strong 
individuality. He was always himself, never an 
echo. But he had an abiding respect for his uncle, 
an abiding respect for the traditions that the older 
man had established. It was the nephew’s desire 
“to carry on.” He was a big enough man to 
succeed. 

After twenty-one years in the rectorship of The 
Little Church—a stretch of time during which 
many would have felt that they. had long since 
established their own traditions—the nephew 
sald: 


During these years it has been my desire to 
look back lovingly, to the history made during 
233 


234 The Little Church Around the Corner 


the first almost half century, to see what plans 
were on that trestleboard for the landmarks 
of this day and generation. If it be so that I 
shall ere long give an account of my steward- 
ship I could not recall any step taken that was 
not in accord with the founder’s plans—noth- 
ing that would not receive his full approbation. 
That has been my aim and I have tried to fulfill 
it faithfully. 


And when finally, after more than a quarter- 
century of service in The Little Church, the 
nephew passed on, the obituaries and editorials 
in the newspapers throughout the country, 
showed that he had kept unimpaired the endow- 
ment of. kindly feeling that the founder had 
handed down. 


He rounded out the second generation of a 
church loyal to its ideals and unwavering in 
its pursuit of them, retaining a distinct and 
impressive individuality such as not many 


metropolitan churches have possessed. (New 
York Tribune.) 


There was one innovation, however. It was a 
brand new contribution to parish efficiency, a 
product of the man’s personality, suz generis. 
He published a little church paper, and in the 
pages of it he put Socrates to parish use. 





Dr. George Clarke Houghton 


Rector of The Little Church Around the Corner for over 
a Quarter of a Century 





Socrates But to Parish Ase 235 


The Little Church had long been famous for 
its music. Each week, the “order of music”’ 
was printed and mailed to members and others 
who attended the Sunday services. 

In February, 1900, The Kalendar made its first 
appearance: a four-page leaflet, on the front 
page the “order of music” for the ensuing Sab- 
bath, the other three pages used for short talks 
on church matters—“‘Why is it that so few of 
our people in America go out for early commun- 
ion?’’—the practical use of the season of Lent— 
a dig in the ribs of “‘non-communicants or infre- 
quent communicants or lapsed communicants or 
late communicants’’—parish notices. 

Nothing unusual in this; nothing unusual in 
the first few numbers. But as the Rector began 
to feel at home in the editor’s chair, he began to 
act natural.” 


WHAT KEEPS THEM AWAY 


Daily I meet people who, for some reason, do 
not attend any church service. It is not so 
practical to preach about this to those who 
always come to church, and so I ask you, dear 
reader, to bring today’s Kalendar to the at- 
tention of some whom you know to be neglect- 
ful of their church duties. Let me through 
this paragraph ask them: What keeps you 
away? “Some one is sick!’ Well, they need 
your prayers and ours: come and pray for 


236 «©The Little Church Around the Corner 


them. ‘“‘Some visitors came in!” Well, fetch 
them along; a word spoken, a hymn sung, a 
prayer said, will not fail to be of service to 
them and you. “I am not very well.” You look 
pretty well. You seemed well the other even- 
ing, and your strength was sufficient to see 
you through that shopping tour from one 
store to another yesterday. “I am kept home 
by the children.’’ Not while you were shopping, 
nor when you went to the entertainment. 
“My husband wants me to stay with him.’ Well, 
you used to bring him every Sunday when the 
courting was going on; don’t you think as 
much of him and his spiritual welfare now as 
then? You don’t think that there was enough 
devotion poured, funnel-like, into your soul 
at some period of your life, to last you for the 
rest of your days! Just look about the house 
and find that Bible you used to have, dust off 
its cover and turn to St. Luke, 14th Chapter, 
16th to 24th verses. 


SUNDAY BEDS! 


A rector “in one of our largest cities’? wants 
this advertisement inserted: we insert; no 
charge. Wantep—Three hundred hard beds 
for Saturday night use 1n my Parish. 


When the publication was three months old: 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 237 


THE KALENDAR 


With this number of The Kalendar we com- 
plete the first volume of twelve numbers. It 
has been a great pleasure to me, during these 
three months, to talk each week, out of Church, 
to about four hundred families, and at least 
three people have told me that The Kalendar 
was a very welcome visitor. This is an 
encouragement, and it might be presumed 
that The Kalendar would go right on in its 
every week issue. I think, however, that 
I will discontinue it for a while, although 
at the risk of disappointing at least three 
people. 

The Kalendar has been issued without ex- 
pense to the Parish. One good friend sent me 
five dollars to help meet the expense and I 
was greatly pleased with the spontaneous offer- 
ing and the kind words accompanying it, and 
but for those very helpful words, I might have 
returned to the former method of issuing only 
the music program. . . . 

Assuming the usual Editorial first person 
plural We make our bow to Our (at least 
three) readers, and lay down our “plural pen,”’ 
retiring for the Summer months from the 


** Editorial Chair.” 


Autumn saw the re-appearance of The Kal- 
endar. In “Vol. 2, No. 1” (throughout the 


238 The Little Church Around the Corner 


career of his tiny publication, Dr. Houghton 
adhered to this whimsicality) : 


The Editor, on behalf of The Kalendar, says:— 


We have come again, but do not expect us 
every week, at least for the present, and as 
for the future, well, that depends! our expenses 
are $13.00 per week, and—well, though we 
shall exhaust our resources on this issue yet 
no doubt we shall be permitted to come and 
see you again during the Autumn and Winter. 
We hope that you have had a delightful Sum- 
mer, and are all well, and that you will con- 
tinue well through the Winter, especially on 
Sunday! Is it not very strange how many 
people do fall ill on Sunday! at least in town, 
and in the Winter! It is not so in the country 
in the Summer and Autumn. Is it not won- 
derful how well every one is on Sunday, in the 
mountains or at the seashore? and so strong! 
Well, we are always glad that they are well 
and strong, and we shall welcome everyone 
back to the Church, and we are sure they all 
will rejoice in their Church duties and priv- 
ileges again, and in the Music and the sweet 
voices of the Vested Choir. 


Though it forestalls chronological sequence, 
let me give two more quotations in which the 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 239 


editor speaks as editor. The first is from the 
issue of February 15, 1903, ““Vol. VI, No. 11.” 


EXPERIENCES OF AN EDITOR 


Probably everyone else has larger and more 
interesting experiences, but odd letters come 
even to the Editor of The Kalendar. One cor- 
respondent wrote twice within a week to ask 
that no more Kalendars be sent because she 
never read them. Another wrote that it seemed 
a pity, with such an opportunity, that it was 
so uninteresting. Another was “much obliged 
for the monthly Searchlight, or whatever you 
call your church paper.” Another gave me the 
information contained in one of the half page 
paragraphs in the previous week’s issue, and 
asked if I knew about it. One or two corre- 
spondents have chided me for sending them 
anything in addition to The Kalendar. These 
remonstrances came because, by inadvertence, 
some blank forms were sent, and that seemed 
to carry the thought that they were counted 
as parishioners. No, friendly reader, the return 
of the filled blank to me would cause you to 
be counted as a parishioner. The blank forms 
carry to you privileges, but no burden. After 
this month I will try to prevent any untoward 
mistakes. Envelopes are bought, and printed, 
and addressed, and a stamp placed thereon; 
the Kalendars are folded, and placed in the 


240 The Little Church Around the Corner 


envelopes; they are sorted, east, west, out of 
town, special delivery, etc., and sent to the 
post office. Four persons engage in this work 
and several hours are occupied by it. I won’t 
count the preparation of the contents, and the 
printing, and the proof-reading, but the work 
mentioned above is considerable, and mis- 
takes will occur; please be cheerful about 
them, as I am about all the chidings. 


The second quotation is from the issue of 
June 7, 1903, “Vol. VII, No. 11.” 


VALEDICTORY 


With this issue of The Kalendar the present 
Editor retires from pleasant and congenial 
work. The little Kalendar has won some 
friends during the year, and also some frank 
and kindly criticism. For both the Editor is 
grateful. He would like to have it understood 
by everyone that he had no thought of publish- 
ing a Magazine! It was simply his desire to 
have friendly talks with the people—fifteen 
hundred copies have been issued and distrib- 
uted each week, and from first to last, many 
pairs of hands and very many hours of work, 
as well as a great deal of thought and system 
have been required to accomplish this. . 
Will The Kalendar resume its mission in the 
Autumn? We cannot tell how that will be, 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 241 


at least, not just now. We bow. Pen dropped. 
Desk closed. Vale. 


The first glimpse we get of Socrates put to 
parish use, is in the fifth issue. 

Most of us remember the dialectic of the 
Athenian “converser,” his method of exposing 
error and revealing truth by systematic question 
and answer. 

Behold Socrates in clerical garb: 


Friendly Critic:—‘‘Are you never tired of 
giving out the same notices, with, apparently, 
so little result?”’ 

Rector:—“‘No, my friend, I am not. First, 
because there are some present, today, who 
have not heard these notices before. And, 
secondly, because you at least have kindly 
observed that I (have no right to be tired if 
I) am doing my duty and that my very per- 
sistency may fire out the influences which are 
keeping some of my hearers from doing their 
duty.” 

Friendly Critic:—“But do you think that 
Confirmation is of any practical use?”’ 

Rector:—‘‘A man, who has been confirmed, 
told me—”’ 


I am not going to repeat the “Rector’s”’ expo- 
sition of the “practical use”’ of Confirmation. I 


92 The Little Church Around the Corner 


merely want to show Socrates’ first effort in the 
editorial chair of The Kalendar. 

Some months elapse before his next effort. 
But meanwhile he has seen a great light: he now 
lays aside his clerical garb and appears as 
** Walter.”’ 


ON THE WAY HOME 


Clarence:—‘‘ Walter, we have been attending 
the services of the Church now for a long time, 
but you and I are not connected with the work 
in any way, and, do you know, I should feel 
more at home in the Church if I were invited to 
do something. 

Walter:—“‘Well, I have been thinking of 
that very thing and it seems to me that we have 
both been “invited” to work, but I have never 
responded to the invitation. I was thinking 
about it this morning when I saw those young 
men come out from Sunday School, and some 
of them took their places as ushers, welcoming . 
strangers and giving them seats... .” 

Clarence:—“I would like to talk this over 
with the Rector. Is he sure to be at home?” 

Walter:—““ Yes, he is home every Monday 
evening.” 

Clarence:—*‘You must be the spokesman. 
How will you begin the conversation?” 

Walter:—*‘ Why, I expect that he won’t wait 
for either of us to begin. He will know that we 


Socrates Put to Barish Ase 243 


want to be interested in the work if we go to 
see him... .”’ 

Clarence:—“ All right. That suits me... . 
We ought to adopt some way of doing our 
share in the support of the Church... . I 
don’t know how much you put in the plate at 
the Offertory, but I know that I am not giv- 
ing more than about four dollars a year! and 
that is very little in comparison with even my 
small salary. Why, I spend about forty-five or 
fifty dollars a year on my tobacco! and about 
the same for the theatre. Nine or ten dollars 
a year on my newspapers, and about the same 
for a ‘shine.’ I ought to give at least twenty- 
five dollars a year to the church. I am glad 
that we have had this talk. I leave you here, 
but if you like I will join you in going to see 
the Rector about something to do that will 
help in the Church work. I will call you on 
the ‘phone tomorrow. Good bye.” 

Walter:—‘“‘Good bye. My telephone num- 
ber is 1171.” 


(At the time, Dr. Houghton’s telephone num- 
ber was 1171.) 

Some months later, back to clerical garb for a 
little talk with “Edgar,” in the course of which 
the “‘Rector”’ says that a “Parish Tea” is to be 
given in the Parish House as soon as the painters 
and kalsominers finish their work, casually add- 


244 The Little Church Around the Corner 


ing that “‘the expense has been a considerable 
sum.” 


Edgar:—“You will of course ask the con- 
gregation to contribute something toward the 
expense?”’ 

Rector:—‘‘No, I think not—I will wait for 
them to think of that, without any suggestion 
from me. It was a work of necessity, and I 
have found that members of the congregation 
are very quick in their responses to what is 
needful in carrying on our work. You must 
come to our ‘Tea.’ I must now say good bye, 
for I see that there are already several per- 
sons waiting to see me. Keep an eye on the 
work!”’ 


Except on one occasion, some time later, when 
“Frank,” “William,” “Tom,” “Edgar,” “Clarence” 
and “Herbert” were discussing the possibility of 
building a Rood-Screen in the church, and they 
“stopped”’ the “‘ Rector” to ask him about it, the 
clerical garb was now laid aside. 

Just after the “Parish Tea,’ he appears as 
“Edgar.” Four of his handy young men are 
talking of “‘the changed condition of the Par- 
ish House:”’ 


Edgar:—“1 wonder how much the repairs 
on the House cost? I believe they must have 
cost five hundred dollars. The Rector told me 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase oo @A5 


that he would not preach any begging sermon 
for the cost of the repairs, but was willing to 
wait for the people to send him contributions 
toward meeting the expense without any sug- 
gestions from him.” 


He even talks in petticoats. “Melinda” and 
“Dorothy”? are discussing whether or not the 
Church is popular with young men. 


Melinda:—‘*‘No, I meant to say, when you 
interrupted me, that you are going too far 
when you say that young men generally stay 
away from the Church. I was late the other 
Sunday and sat far in the rear of the Church—”’ 

Dorothy:—“‘ Yes, the Rector saw you come 

in!” 
Melinda:—“‘Why will you always break in 
on what I am saying? The Rector could not 
see me way back there and I walked in very 
unobtrusively when the Rector was facing 
the Altar! As I looked over the congregation 
in the west end of the church, and well up 
toward the middle, fully half of those present 
were men, and a great many of them were 
young men, but I could not find ‘Edgar’ or 
‘Clarence’... 


Soon the conversation switches to the bills 
for the Parish House repairs. 


246 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Dorothy:—“‘T believe that if the Rector would 
suggest to the people the plan of paying for the 
repairs, some of one room and some one else 
paying for another; one paying for the stair 
carpet and another for the hallway, they would 
undertake it gladly.” 

Melinda:—‘‘Perhaps they would, Bis you 
cannot induce the Rector to preach begging 
sermons. I wish he would. Katrina Wing- 
flight says that in her Church the Rector does 
that on at least three Sundays in every month, 
and that they must raise a lot of money because 
Katrina says they are going to ‘consolidate,’ 
whatever that may mean—it must be some- 
thing grand because Katrina says her Church 
is ‘going up.’ I suppose they are very high 
Church.” 


And then “Dorothy” unburdens herself of a 
neat little sermon. 


Melinda:—‘‘Good bye, and, I say, Dorothy, 
I won’t be late any more, and I won’t watch 
to see what other people are doing.” 


The Little Church was without a bell. Dr. 
Houghton was anxious to have one—better still, 
a chime of bells. He spoke, direct to the congre- 
gation, a number of times on the subject. 





ittle Church 


f The L 


Interior o 





Socrates Put to Parish Ase Q47 


A chime of bells to be rung as a call to 
Church, and at other times, would be one of 
the most satisfactory things that could come 
into my life of outward religious observance. 
I am fully persuaded in my own mind that there 
can be no more satisfactory adjunct to what 
we have already than a sweet tubular chime, 
such as I heard in Coventry, England, very 
many years ago, and have waited and wished 
for and hoped that they might come here! I 
have listened so often, day by day, in London, 
to the chimes of bells in the various churches, 
but none sounded so sweet, so soothing, so 
delightful, as those dear soft bells and chimes 
in quaint old Coventry where the musical sounds 
were as of a wooing voice, and they who heard 
hurried to the Courts of the Lord’s House to 
worship. 


But his church tower continued mute. 
Socrates turns up as a “stranger.” 


IN THE VESTIBULE 


Stranger:—“‘Is this the Church of the Trans- 
figuration?”’ 

Usher:—“‘Yes, and this is the 52nd Anni- 
versary of the first service held in this Church 
building.”’ 

Stranger:—‘‘I have often heard of this Church 
and as this is my first visit to New York I 


948 The Little Church Around the Corner 


have come to see the Church and should like 
to have the privilege of seeing its memorials.” 

Usher:—“‘ After the service, which will soon 
begin, you will have an opportunity.”’ 

Stranger:—“You have no bell, at least I 
have not heard one. I heard the bell of a 
Church on the corner ringing as I came through 
the street.” 

Usher:—“‘No, we have no bell. I have heard 
many express the hope that we might have 
one.” 

Stranger:—“A sweet toned bell on one of 
your towers, announcing the moment of the 
Celebration of the Holy Eucharist, would add 
very much to the solemnity of the beautiful 
thought which this Parish represents, and 
would announce to passers by as well as to the 
sick in this vicinity that the Blessed Manna 
from Heaven was here. If at any time a fund 
should be started for this purpose, I should 
consider it a privilege to contribute toward 
it. I will leave my name and address with you.” 

Usher:—“I will give your card to the Rec- 
tor who will be glad to see you after the serv- 
ice which is about to begin. Please let me 
show you to a seat.” 


Through the offerings of a large number of the 
members of the congregation, a twelve-hundred 
pound bell was placed in the tower. 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 249 


They were trotted out time and again, these 
Socratic marionettes. They gave Dr. Houghton, 
concealed behind the editorial proscenium, the 
opportunity to talk of many things. The quaint 
humor that was their inspiration, should have 
made them potent mouthpieces. 

There was an anecdote to which Dr. Hough- 
ton, as editor, was very partial. 


ANECDOTE 


In olden times it was the custom of our 
two Wardens to take up the Offerings, or, as 
some then called it, “to pass the plate,’ in 
the middle aisle. Upon one such Sunday, after 
turning at the west end of the Church and 
while walking toward the Chancel, the Senior 
Warden, good Professor Dougherty (I remem- 
ber the dear old gentleman very well when I 
was a boy; a kindly old man, always kind to 
me; and some are not so kind to boys) after 
a glance at the contents of the plates, was 
overheard to remark to his junior: “Rather 
light this morning, Mr. Butler.” 


I have come across that anecdote in a number 
of issues—fifteen years between its first and its 
last appearance. Possibly, the report from his 
Wardens, “Rather light this morning, Dr. Hough- 
ton,” refreshed the editor’s memory. 

It would be a very incomplete picture of Dr. 


250 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Houghton, as mirrored in The Kalendar, were 
certain characteristics not limned in by the 
mention of several classes of little articles. 

There were brief articles—sometimes a series 
of them—on church history, on religious festi- 
vals, on the symbolism of the ritual, vestments, 
ecclesiastic ornamentation. 


Last week’s chapter was a little long. This 
week’s will be a little short. . 


Every year a number of articles on Christmas 
and the Christmas spirit. 


THE CHRISTMAS TREE 


You will not forget, dear Friendly Reader, to 
“gather around the Christmas Tree”’ on Thurs- 
day, December 28th, the Innocents’ Day, and 
bring all the children to that Holy Infant’s 
Christmas Tree, and sing the Carols. Someone 
will tell me, “But those are old carols.’’? God 
bless them, yes, they are old, and always new. 
“We three kings of Orient are!”’ ‘Christ was 
born on Christmas Day!’’ “Ring out the bells 
for Christmas!”’ “Silent Night, Holy Night!” 
Oh! I would like to have everyone of you 
there at the Christmas Tree, and have you sing 
as if your whole soul was being poured out in 
praise of the dear, Blessed Infant Jesus. I 
invite you all, dear Friendly Readers, to come 


Socrates Put to Darish Ase Q51 


and I will sing, just as heartily as anybody, for 
I love it. I love Christmas, and I love every- 
thing about it, and I love the Carols, and I 
want everybody else to love them, and I want 
everybody to love the choir, and the children 
of the schools, and, above all, I want them to 
love the dear and Blessed Child Jesus Christ 
and let Heaven and earth know they love Him. 


Little pleas for help—any kind of help—for 
the many charities of the church. 


GARMENTS, SHOES AND COAL 


The Saint Martin’s Guild is engaged in a 
very important work among the poor. Half- 
worn garments for women, men and children 
are in great demand—and Shoes! Shoes! What 
a gratifying thing it will be if you will send us 
Shoes—for men—for boys—for girls—for wo- 
men—Shoes, and plenty of them—of course, 
not too, too much out-worn to be worn out! 
And when it shall seem good to each of a 
dozen people to give me an order on a Shoe 
store for half a dozen shoes, and another dozen 
people will each give me an order for a dozen 
stockings to give to poor people, so that each 
one who is shod can be fitted over stockings 
which have only one hole through which he 
can put his foot! Well, my dear friends, that 
will be a Xmas gift to the poor which will 


252 The Little Church Around the Corner 


rejoice my heart. And Coal! “Christmas 
Coals” —a gift of an half ton to a poor family 
so that they can cook their Xmas dinner [every 
year, over a thousand Christmas dinners, “a 
turkey and a vegetable or two,” were dis- 
tributed]—so that they may have warmth on 
Christmas Day and way beyond “Little Christ- 
mas,’ Twelfth Night—every day, heat to warm 
body and heart—every day, warmth so that 
teeth may not chatter so as to keep them from 
kneeling down to say their “thank you” to 
the dear Lord Who wants the prayers of the 
poor as well as the prayers of those who have 
something to spare from their own provision. 
Garments—Shoes—Coal! Give, and it shall 
be given to you to give, by the dear Heavenly 
Provider. 


Nor should we overlook the series of “‘short 
stories” that Dr. Houghton published in his 
church paper. 


“FIRESIDE SAINTS” 


Mr. Gorham, 285 Fourth Avenue, has issued 
a little book of the above title, and has given 
me permission to print these twelve little sto- 
ries in The Kalendar. They were written by 
Douglas Jerrold, who not only wrote Mrs. 
Caudle’s Curtain Lectures and Black-Eyed Susan, 
but also The Chronicles of Clovernook and Time 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 253 
Works Wonders. The Fireside Saints have each 


“‘a special shining virtue”’ to be imitated. 


I.—SAINT LILY 


Saint Lily was the wife of a poor man, who 
tried to support his family (and the children 
were many) by writing books. But in those 
days it was not as easy for a man to find a 
publisher as to say his Paternoster. Many were 
the books that were written by the husband of 
Saint Lily, but, to every book, Saint Lily gave 
at least two babes. However, blithe as the 
cricket was the spirit that ruled about the 
hearth of Saint Lily. And how she helped her 
helpmate! She smiled sunbeams into his ink 
bottle, and turned his goose pen to the quill of 
a dove! She made the paper he wrote on as 
white as her name and as fragrant as her soul. 
And when folks wondered how Saint Lily man- 
aged so lightly with fortune’s troubles, she al- 
ways answered that she never heeded them— 
that troubles were like babies, and only grew the 
bigger by nursing. 


In Transfiguration Parish there were all the 
activities of the ordinary parish. But, not with- 
out reason, Dr. Houghton had unofficially re- 
named this parish, ““Everybody’s Parish.” 

Its reputation for kindly hospitality, brought 
to The Little Church what many would call a 


254 The Little Church Around the Corner 


great burden, what the sincere follower of Christ 
would call a great opportunity: many, many 
appeals for help from those who, either through 
weakness or misfortune, had been trampled under- 
foot. 

Here and there can be gleaned an indication of 
the total volume of appeal that poured into the 
rectory in Twenty-ninth Street. 


. I receive often fifty letters and some- 
times many more a day, and so many from 
poor and weary Convalescents who need rest 
and attention in good, pure, country air. . 


. My office receives many applications, 
daily, for positions . 


. Many, probably sixty or more, are 
aided with a lodging or meal every night, and 
on some inclement nights the number has been 
much greater . 


Not cold charity, but kindly hospitality! 
For the “poor and weary Convalescents” (a 
hope!): 


If only we had a permanent home, with a 
few acres of good land, with shade trees, and 
fruit trees, and a garden for vegetables and 
quantities of flowers—a home for the home- 
less—and for those who in former days were 


Socrates Put to Parish Gse 255 


housed comfortably, but now have only a room 
in the crowded city—for those who were well, 
but now are weary with suffering—who one 
time had independent means, but now are 
almost penniless—had many friends, but now 
are “unknown” by those who knew them well 
and were recipients of their hospitality—poor 
and friendless now, and forlorn and suffering, 
but who yet with good air, good food, and 
friendly attention, may again be able to make 
good and amply support themselves, if only 
now they have rest! A home in the truest 
sense, where they would be welcome guests— 
self-respecting people—not herded together in 
an establishment as paupers—a home, without 
care or worry—a restful homely living that is 
far more than mere existence. 


For the “underfoot”’ men (a reality)! 


. The Service, the instruction, the sym- 
pathy, the greeting, the word spoken not only 
to them collectively, but to each man indi- 
vidually; the hope imparted to so many who 
are without work, and homeless, and down- 
cast, and friendless; the handshake for those 
who have believed only that every man’s hand 
was against them; the warmed room, the 
music, the reading, the prayers, the words of 
explanation and exhortation, the welcome ex- 


256 The Little Church Around the Corner 


tended, not in what are called the “slums,” 
but in the centre of well-to-do life, not given 
to them in the tailored garments of the rich 
but in their shabby and tattered garb, some or 
all of these combined are extending their quiet 
influence, no less, but, I believe far more than 
the lodging or meal of victuals which these 
famished and bedless men receive. . . 


Dr. Houghton was a staunch believer in self- 
help. 


Saint Martin’s Guild has undertaken to sup- 
ply the poor with clothing at a nominal price. 
My reason for making any charge for the 
clothing (and the charge is only made to those 
who prefer to buy if the price is within their 
meagre means) is that the Christian Religion 
ought not to aid in pauperizing, but is bound 
to inculcate self-respect and self-support among 
all classes of people. 


It was the same with the Coal Club, its chief 
object to remove the necessity of “the poor but 
self-supporting and self-respecting family” buy- 
ing coal by the scuttleful, with consequent extrav- 
agantly high rates. Saint Persis Guild was organ- 
ized to obtain positions for the “men and women, 
young and old, who are out of work and are 
trustworthy and capable, and want to work!” 

But if a man were hungry— 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase Q57 


. . . I believe that our meeting room would 
be filled nightly [with “underfoot”? men] if 
neither lodging nor meal were given. Whether 
or not that be so is not of first importance; if 
a man is hungry enough to walk five miles 
for a meal, God’s blessing will go to the giver 
of that meal. 


Like his uncle, a devout believer in “High 
Church”’ ritual and all that it symbolizes; but, 
also like his uncle, a man who emphasized prac- 
tical Christianity. 

Nothing unusual for his motor car to be seen 
standing in a tenement neighborhood: may- 
hap he had taken groceries to some needy fam- 
ily; mayhap, a visit to a bedridden old darky. 


The older generation of colored folk had a deep 
love for the church that had given their race asy- 
lum during the days of the Draft Riots of ’63, and 
when age and infirmities came upon them, and 
they could no longer go to The Little Church, 
why—then the Rector went to see them. There 
was one old darky who, for several years preced- 
ing her death, lay helpless upon a bed in Lincoln 
Hospital, some five or six miles from The Little 
Church; but regularly, every month, Dr. Hough- 
ton paid her a visit. 

“Transfiguration is not only a parish of fam- 
ilies, but zt 7s a Parish Family.” The sentence 
is Dr. Houghton’s. 


2958 The Little Church Around the Corner 


_ Folks who were married in The Little Church 
(I am not speaking of those who were parish- 
ioners, but of those who, simply because of its 
traditions, came to it from a distance)—these 
folks sometimes brought the baby there for the 
baptism; and, years later, brought it there for 
the wedding—sometimes, for the funeral. | 

Many of these folks wrote to The Little Church 
on anniversaries—of joy or of sorrow. When it 
was a memory of joy, the message was often only 
a radiation of their own happiness. Those whose 
anniversary was one of sorrow usually asked for 
a prayer for the one who was gone. 


All Souls’ Day, the day following All Saints’ 
Day, is a day that is looked forward to most 
lovingly by a great many people, as the special 
day on which their beloved dead are prayed for 
by clergy and people in their Parish Church. 
Very many in the Parish will recall the “mo- 
saics’’ the beloved Founder preached about 
this privilege. All names to be mentioned at 
the Altar on this day should be written plainly 
and sent to the Rector. 


At another time. 


Recently there have been many requests for 
remembrance at the Holy Communion on 
‘*Birth-days,” and, it has occurred to me that 
if I had a private Birthday Book, the persons 





MEMORIAL WINDOW 


5 
i eS 


&6 ” 
AS RICHARD III 





RICHARD 
MANSFIELD 


AS ‘* DICK DUDGEON”’ 





> 

* 

a . 
& rs 
a ir 

s 





AS “PRINCE KARL” 


The Mansfield Memorial Window in The Little Church Around the Corner 


The man, and four of his characterizations 





Socrates Put to Parish Tse 259 


whose names are entered would be remembered 
on every recurring birthday! I have already 
more than forty names to enter in the book, 
and it will only be necessary to send me, not 
the date of the year of your birth, but only the 
day of the month, and the book, arranged like an 
ordinary birthday book, will have such and such 
names entered on January Ist, and others on 
January 2nd, and so on through the year. On 
each day of every year the Priest who Cele- 
brates at the early Service will have before him 
the names of all persons whose names are en- 
tered in the book, and he will offer a special 
prayer for God’s Blessing upon those persons. 
I am now ready to receive additions to my 
list, and shall be glad to include every name 
sent to me. I do not want any birthday for- 
gotten at the daily Celebration. Three or 
four good friends have written to ask if the 
name of a sister or brother, or dear friend, liv- 
ing in another city, or abroad, might be added 
to the list. Why not? We are a Parish Fam- 
ily and we are interested in those who are near 
and dear to all the members of the family; “we 
are members, one of another.”’ 


A year later. 


Some of my friendly readers have not sent 
me their names for my Birthday Book. Pos- 


260 The Little Church Around the Corner 


sibly they do not know that every person named 
in my Birthday Book is prayed for at the Altar 
on each recurring anniversary. And even if 
they do know this it may be, in their case, 
like the Editor of The Kalendar who found, on 
the 17th of December, last year, that he had 
forgotten to enter his own name. I am thank- 
ful to say that the omission has been rectified 
and I shall be glad to rectify any other omis- 
sions, if the names and dates (not of the year 
but of the month and day) are sent to me. I 
have nearly six hundred names entered. 


All this fosters the family idea of the Par- 
ish, and that is the true idea of a parish. 

One Sunday morning in the early Autumn, 
some years ago, I was in a large London Church; 
and the Priest came into the Church just be- 
fore the Service and spoke to one and another 
of the people, calling them by name, enquiring 
about the health of an aged father, and of a 
sick child, and a crippled mother. In the Serv- 
ice every act was dignified with solemn cere- 
monial, and at the same time there was an 
unmistakable air of family worship. Every 
semblance of perfunctoriness was eliminated. 
It was the natural way of a _ supernatural 
life. 

Why can we not be more natural in our 
religion? It is Christly. It is just what Christ 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 261 


wants. He said so. If we felt natural, and 
talked and acted, not in a stilted and forbid- 
ding way, but naturally in religion, it would 
create a new order of things, and make devo- 
tion a part of our living instead of an extra- 
ordinary act in our lives. 

I remember a sweet little story that was told 
to me by one who was very fond of the dear 
Founder of this Parish. 

She was a young girl. He had baptized her, 
brought her to Confirmation and Holy Com- 
munion. Sunday, falling upon the first of 
February, which was his birthday, she came to 
Church with a bunch of fragrant flowers to 
give him as a birthday remembrance. She 
walked into the Church and found that the 
Rector had gone into the Chancel, and had 
begun the Service. She walked up the centre 
aisle, and to the Chancel, and handed him the 
bunch of flowers: ‘Doctor, I wanted to give 
you these for your birthday.” I can fancy that 
I see his speaking eyes and his loving face, as 
he thanked her for the gift! 

She went back to the pew where she was 
accustomed to sit; and it was not until then 
that she was aware that there was a congre- 
gation present, that she was conscious that she 
had done an unusual thing! 

God bless her, she had been perfectly nat- 
ural. 


262 The Little Church Around the Corner 
Let me reprint a letter. 


May 26, 1923. 


To THE Epitor oF The Living Church: 


The anecdotes of the Rev. Dr. Houghton, 
late rector of the Church of the Transfigura- 
tion in this city, appearing in this week’s issue 
of The Living Church, are admirable examples 
of his ready wit and his mental alertness. They 
reminded me of two instances which illustrate 
an even finer side of his character. 

One Easter morning several years ago, Dr. 
Houghton was following a very beautiful and 
impressive procession down the centre aisle of 
The Little Church Around the Corner.” Sud- 
denly I saw him stop, turn and walk to a pew 
in which there was standing an elderly woman 
rather shabbily dressed. He greeted her most 
cordially, spoke a few words to her, and then, 
with the simple dignity which always charac- 
terized him, followed on after the procession. 
An act, which was certainly unusual and which 
might have been startling, seemed, as he did 
it, the most natural thing in the world, and 
impressed me more than any other part of the 
service. 

Later in the same service, when Dr. Hough- 
ton was walking to the pulpit, he found that 
on account of the augmented choir, one small 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 263 


choir boy was standing almost entirely out- 
side the stall and left but scant room for the 
rector’s portly figure. As the Doctor pressed 
past the little boy, he patted him on the head, 
and gave him a smile which the child must 
long have remembered. I have never known 
any prelude to a sermon that could compare 
with that. 


Haroutp H. Bowman. 


You may remember, in the anecdote re-told 
some pages back, Dr. Houghton’s parenthetical 
comment on Professor Dougherty “(I remember 
the dear old gentleman very well when I was a 
boy; a kindly old man, always kind to me; and 
some are not so kind to boys).” 

Apropos, let me quote a story told in an edito- 
rial in the New York Evening Telegram: 


Many years ago a boy fresh from the coun- 
try was sent by a publishing house to get the 
signatures of three clergy to a legal paper. 

The rector of a leading parish read it care- 
fully and wrote in his name. Another famous 
cleric signed without saying anything but “Get 
out of the light.” 

Dr. Houghton was found at his desk whistling. 
Having read and signed, he turned to the mes- 
senger and said: 


264 The Little Church Around the Corner 


“Hello, young man, where do you go to 
church?” 

“T don’t go anywhere,” was the reply. 

“You young heathen, why don’t you come to 
my church?” 

It was thus that Dr. Houghton turned one 
who was destined to be a notable New Yorker 
into a stanch supporter of the church and 
himself. 


From a letter written to me by John Boyce: 


From February 1900 to March 1901, I was 
privileged to sing in the choir of the Church of 
the Transfiguration, under the organist, Mr. 
James Potter Dod. I have always looked upon 
that period of my life as one of the most pleas- 
ant, as it gave me an opportunity to come in 
contact with Dr. Houghton, if only in a small 
way. 

He was very fond of his choir boys and would 
occasionally come into the choir room after the 
service, if our singing happened to be excep- 
tional, and praise us. Although I was too 
young to record any anecdotes or incidents at 
that time, I recall how he took the choir boys 
to Barnum & Bailey’s Circus in Madison 
Square Garden and we all had an enjoyable 
time. 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 265 


Mr. Boyce, perhaps unconsciously, uses the 
phrase “we all’’ in the all-inclusive Southern sense, 
for no one had a better time on those circus trips 
than Dr. Houghton—nor his wife, who was always 
one of the party. 

Of all the things done by Dr. Houghton during 
his rectorship at The Little Church, none is more 
representative of the inward man, than the build- 
ing of the mortuary chapel. 


During the past few years there have been 
many who have died in distant cities and rural 
districts, abroad and in this country, whose 
mortal remains have been brought to this 
Parish Church to await the day of burial; and 
we have reverently done what we could to give 
those precious relics a fitting asylum. But we 
have learned through our experience during 
the past ten or more years, that this cannot be 
so fittingly done as it can be in an especial 
place dedicated to that one purpose. 


The chapel was completed in 1908—a place where 
the dead, regardless of creed, may lie awaiting 
burial, “‘surrounded by all that speaks of peace and 
joy and a glorious resurrection.” It was dedicated 
to the Founder, Dr. George Hendric Houghton 
“who ministered so especially and acceptably to 
those in affliction, bringing comfort to their hearts 
in the time of their greatest sorrow and grief, and 


266 «The Little Church Around the Corner 


was so devout and loving in his ministry to the 
dead.”’ 
From The Kalendar, “Vol. XI, No. 7: 


A MEMORIAL 


Many members of the Congregation will 
remember old “Isaac Turner,” the little old 
white-haired man, who for many years was a 
faithful servant in the Church. He lived in the 
Parish House, and Summer and Winter per- 
formed many duties as caretaker of the Church, 
conducting visitors and strangers through the 
Church, showing them the memorials, etc., 
tieing up innumerable bundles, and waiting on 
the Officers of the different Guilds and Asso- 
ciations. He has been absent for a year, liv- 
ing with his daughter, who took the best of 
care of him, on Long Island. He died peacefully 
on July 24th in the hope of an immortal Res- 
urrection. May he rest in Peace. 


Walter W. Griffin was a postman on Twenty- 
ninth Street, when George CuarKE Houghton, a 
young priest, just in Orders, was a frequent vis- 
itor upon Uncle George at the rectory. 

Walter W. Griffin, a little grizzled old man, 
was a postman on Twenty-ninth Street, when 
George Clarke Houghton dwelt in the rectory. 

In the mortuary chapel there is a bronze 
memorial tablet: 


Socrates Put to Parish Ase 267 


In 
Remembrance of 
Water WILLIAM GRIFFIN 
Died 
February 28th, 1907 
Thirty-five Years 
Postman 
For Twenty-ninth Street. 


“Father in Thy gracious keeping 


Leave we now Thy servant sleeping.”’ 





“THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES” 


The night has a thousand eyes, 
And the day but one; 

Yet the light of the bright world dies 
With the dying sun. 


The mind has a thousand eyes, 
And the heart but one; 

Yet the light of a whole life dies 
When love is done. 


Francis William Bourdillon. 


For thirty years they had journeyed together; 
then a sudden illness; and thereafter one jour- 
neyed alone. 

Death entered the rectory, April 30, 1902. 

For near a month the little parish paper, The 
Kalendar, ceased its weekly visits. ‘Then, in the 
issue of May 25, the editor spoke to his friends. 


APRIL 30, A. p. 1902 


May I say to you just the one only word that 
I can now say to you? Frail humanity cries 
268 


“Che Night Has a Thousand Epes’? 269 


out: Would God the cause which called forth 
such loving kindness as you have shown might 
yet have stayed its coming! Would God the 
human influence of a love and work which was 
an inspired, holy, daily guidance, might yet 
be clothed in mortal garb, visibly in the home! 
Would God the going hence might have been, 
as the daily earthly life and walk, hand in 
hand! My heart goes out to you, dear friends, 
in the deepest gratitude for your great good- 
ness. May God’s abundant blessed love rest 
upon you and soften and sanctify every trial 
which he may permit. May God indeed grant 
to you and to me, in every trial, His grace to 
enable us to put our full trust in Him, and yield 
up our whole heart and love in childlike faith. 
“They wrought by Faith” and not “They 
wrought by Doubt”’ 
Is the proud epitaph above them placed— 
Our glorious Dead—who in their grandeur lie, 
Crowned with the garland of mortality. 
Because they did believe, and conquered 
doubt, 
Those who, in old time walked their perilous 
way, 
With the gray hairs of kingly sorrow crowned. 
Who laid their heads upon the bloody block 
For their last pillow, and amidst the flames, 
Bore still their witness, and with quivering 


hands, 


270) «=—- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


Sowed every wind with sparks of fiery thought. 
Because he did believe, Columbus sailed 
For that new world his inner eye had seen. 
He found. So Faith its new world yet shall 
find— 
But doubt shakes its wise head and stays 
behind. 


One must needs look far and wide to find more 
eloquent witness to a love that is gone, to a woe 
that remains, than those forty-six words: ‘Would 
God the human influence of a love and work which 
was an inspired, holy, daily guidance, might yet 
be clothed in mortal garb, visibly in the home! 
Would God the going hence might have been, as 
the daily earthly life and walk, hand in hand!” 

And then: “May God indeed grant to you and 
to me, in every trial, His grace to enable us to 
put our full trust in Him, and yield up our whole 
heart and love in childlike faith.’? For a moment, 
the priest shows himself, stripped of his vest- 
ments, a man in whose heart grief wrestles with 
faith. ‘“‘Because they did believe, and conquered 
doubt ’’— 

Just that one revelation of what was going on 
within: then the lips were closed. Not till years 
later, an old man, bowed with infirmities, who 
knew he was getting close to the foot of the hill— 
not till then did he speak of the one who was in 
the valley. 


“The Night Has a Thousand Epes’? 71 


And meanwhile— 

In Kensico Cemetery, among the hills of West- 
chester County, he built a beautiful house for 
the dead: of white granite, its Greek lines be- 
speaking aspiration, not dejection. 

Every Wednesday morning (April 30, 1902, had 
fallen on a Wednesday) the sexton had ready a 
large bouquet, the variety of flowers specified by 
Dr. Houghton the evening before. The Rector 
celebrated the early communion (7 A.M.) and 
immediately thereafter went to Kensico... . 
The nosegay was left in the vault. 

The thirtieth of every month, the same pil- 
grimage. 

And these pilgrimages continued year in and 
year out, summer and winter, in fair weather and 
in foul. They stopped, seventeen years later, when 
the physicians gave positive orders to their 
patient. 

Every year, on the anniversary of the day 
of desolation, a requiem mass in The Little 
Church. 

Every year, on May 11, the day Mary Creemer 
Pirsson was born, an impressive service—many 
flowers, a stringed orchestra, a full choir, an hour 
and a half of inspirational music. 


In Memory or Mary CREEMER HOUGHTON: 


In the autumn of 1903, a Rood wall was 
placed under the Chancel Arch. The upper 


272 Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


part of the wall is of pure white marble, in large 
solid blocks, enriched with mosaics “symbol- 
ical of the Blessed Sacrament.’ The base is of 
Tennessee marble. The opening of the Wall 
is spanned by two bronze gates, over seven feet 
in width, that shut off the Sanctuary from the 
nave. In the second panel, on the epistle side 
of the Rood wall, a tablet of bronze and enamel: 
“In loving memory of Mary C. Houghton 

.”’; on the bronze gates, in an intricate 
eda of symbolical ornaments, the sacred 
monogram, the “M.R.”’ of Samt Mary, and 
the monogram “M.C.H.” 

Christmas Day, 1903, a stained glass window 
was unveiled, on the north side of the church, 
facing the pew the Rector’s wife had occupied, 
the subject, Murillo’s Madonna and Child, the 
inscription, “In memoriam Mary C. Hough- 
LOT N aaa 

And on May 11, 1906—anniversary of that 
unforgotten birthday—Saint Mary’s Chapel 
(usually called the “Lady Chapel’) was dedi- 
cated. It is a very little chapel, but upon it 
Dr. Houghton lavished the devotion of priest 
and man: a colorful mosaic of ecclesiastical 
symbolism, a richly inlaid jewel-box in which 
the memory of a human love was enshrined. 

Upon the bronze memorial tablet, also in 
the longitudinal panels of the glass doors lead- 
ing into the chapel, the inscription: 





Mary’s Chapel 


St 
Built by Dr. George Clarke Houghton as a memorial to h 


ife 


S 


i 





“The Night Has a Thousand Epes’? 73 


This Chapel was Consecrated 
A. D. MDCCCVI 
To the Greater Glory of God 
in honour of Saint Mary the Mother of our Lord 
in plous memory of 
Mary C. Houcuton 
who, fortified by the Rites of the Church, 
departed this life April XXX, MDCCCCII. 
Pray for the happy repose of her soul. 


The sacred monogram, the “M.R.” of Saint 
Mary, and the monogram “M.C.H.” occur 
again and again—upon the bronze memorial 
tablet, in the marble mosaic of the floor, upon 
the brass Credence. 


When the chapel was consecrated, Dr. Hough- 
ton prepared a booklet, its cover printed in blue 
and silver, its pages tied with blue ribbon. In 
addition to the order of exercises, the psalms, the 
prayers, the Recessional, it contained a minute 
description of the Chapel. 

From it I quote: 


. the interesting ensemble of stained 
glass, exquisitely painted in the antique style, 
and contained in the six wrought-iron framed 
doors, and the three fairly large windows. The 


274 The Little Church Ground the Corner 


doors represent in twelve most beautiful min- 
iatures, the Life of Saint Mary, the Mother of 
our Lord, the windows corresponding in sub- 
ject. All are copies from the Old Italian, or 
the German Masters, and, taken as a theme, 
they picture the “Love between Mother and 
Child,” to which each painting lends its particu- 
lar charm. 

In Raphael’s Madonna del Granduca, from the 
Palazzo Pitti, Florence, (window nearest the 
Altar), 1s shown the object of the painter’s par- 
ticular devotion. How much of that which is 
purest and most sanctified in womanhood he 
may have derived from his recollections of 
that early lost mother, the world can never 
know; and his was evidently an adored and 
faultless image, cherished in the inmost re- 
cesses of his heart. . . 


Upon the brass Credence in Saint Mary’s Chapel 
is an inscription in Latin: ‘“‘ Without ceasing I 
make mention of you always in my prayers.” 

In his study, in his bedroom—on the walls, 
on the mantel-shelf, on his desk, on his bureau— 
photographs of his wife, three or four dozen of 
them, small, enlarged, colored. When he was in 
those two rooms that were personal to him, not 
an angle but what his eyes rested on the beloved 
face. And there was one photograph—taken just 
before the last illness—that he had copied upon 


“The Night Has a Thousand Epes’? 275 


glass, a colored transparency, which he hung in 
his study window overlooking Twenty-ninth 
Street. By night, if he were home-coming, the 
study light made it “the face in the window.” 

His taste for fiction had always included detec- 
tive tales. But now, they became practically 
the only fiction that he read, particularly at 
night. 

An old friend, the Rev. Dr. Robert A. Shep- 
pard, ran across him in a book store, and was 
accosted: 

“Hello you. Know any good detective stories?” 

Few knew what lay behind that ceaseless quest; 
few knew that it was a quest for an opiate. 

I think it is in “The Light That Failed” that 
Kipling says “that to every man is appointed his 
fear.’ Dick Heldar’s fear was “the smooth 
green water above a dam,” the Narghili’s “the 
glint of naked steel.’”’ Dr. Houghton’s fear was 
the dark. As a child, he hated the night and its 
shadows, hated to go to bed. After his wife’s 
death, there was a recrudescence of the old dread. 
And so the light burned in the study of the rec- 
tory. He did the parish desk-work at night. That 
done the Rector sat reading detective tales, often 
to the coming of the dawn. 

A while ago there was an article by Mary B. 
Mullett, in the American Magazine, “Why This 
Little Church Has A Million Friends.” Said 
Miss Mullett: 


276 «= ONhe Little Church Around the Corner 


For a long time I have lived just across the 
way from the green yard, with its flowers and 
the softly playing fountain. There was a cer- 
tain upper window in the rectory which I, like 
many other people, knew to be in Doctor 
Houghten’s study. Always at night there was 
a light behind that window; and we, who 
passed along the street, would look up at it— 
and go on, feeling somehow a little safer, a little 
less alone, because of the kindly presence we 
knew to be there. 


And up there, in the study, sat a lonely man, 
beleaguered by shadows, awaiting the coming of 
the day. 

How little we know our neighbors. 


FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE 


One of Life’s grimmest ironies: The man who 
cried out, when Death took his wife, ‘‘ Would 
God the going might have been hand in hand,’ 
whose grief never yielded to the years—this man, 
day after day, year in and year out, was called 
upon to start couples, hand in hand, upon the 
old highway. 

During his quarter-century at The Little 
Church, Dr. Houghton performed over seven 
thousand five hundred marriage ceremonies. 

How many times must he have seen a bride 
give the groom just such a look as he had re- 
ceived lang syne. 


And closed for aye the sparkling glance 
That dwelt on me sae kindly. 


Did it put bitterness in his heart? 

At the end of a marriage ceremony he always 
placed his hand on the bridegroom’s shoulder and, 
looking him straight in the eyes, said in that 
deep vibrant voice: 


**Be kind to her.”’ 


278 The Little Church Around the Corner 
Then to the bride: 


“Take good care of him.” 

Couples revisiting the church years after their 
marriage have said that they never forgot those 
words; that there was more good in them than 
there would have been in a sermon. 

And those words that he spoke to the groom 
in this little after-ceremony, were the words of his 
wife. 

During the celebration of his golden jubilee as a 
priest, an interviewer came: 


“What are some of the qualities and the 
ideals which, in your opinion, based on so many 
years of experience, are likely to make marriage 
happy to-day?”’ I asked Dr. Houghton. 

“There’s one thing,’ he smiled, “which I 
have always said to every husband I married. 
It’s just this: ‘Be kind.’ My own wife died 
some years ago, but when, in her lifetime, any 
one came to her with troubles or sorrows, she 
would say, ‘Just follow that rule in life—be kind.’ 
It is a very sweet rule and preserves much 
happiness.” 


It is the only time that Dr. Houghton spoke to 
the public of his wife. 


I do not know when it was that the hymeneal 
tide first began to eddy in Twenty-ninth Street. 








1870 





1880 


ides of 


The Br 





1900 








1910 


1920 


Eight Decades 





For Better, for Worse 279 


In the New York Herald of April 10, 1904, I 
find: 


Ask a cabman where is the best place to 
get married, and nine chances out of ten he will 
tell you The Little Church Around the Corner. 
It is known all over the world. Couples who 
have met one another and fallen in love abroad 
have made a wedding at the little brown church 
the climax of their trip. 

Couples have been known to have come 
from the Riviera, Liverpool, Hamburg and drive 
to The Little Church Around the Corner the 
minute they landed on American soil. It has 
seen many a consummation of a love affair that 
had its inception on a homeward voyage on a 
liner, and the drive to the church has been 
made even before the luggage was sent to the 
hotel. 


The last time I was in the office in the rectory, a 
girl came in, her eyes shining with happiness, a man 
following behind, as men have a way of doing at 
such times. The year before, they had come from 
London, to be married in The Little Church. 
They were now on a flying trip to New York— 
just off the steamer, and—well—here they were. 

And after they had gone, down the churchyard 
path, through the Lich-Gate, the rector’s secre- 
tary told me that the week before, two couples— 


280 «- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


one from Switzerland, the other from Argentina 
—had journeyed across oceans to have their 
romances solemnized in this Twenty-ninth Street 
Mecca. 

Arm-in-arm with this popularity, came the 
reputation of being a Gretna Green, a place 
where it is easy to be married, haven for the elop- 
ing couple, for the secret marriage. 

Perhaps it was because the church was located 
close to what, for years, was the center of New 
York’s night life. Perhaps it was because so many 
actors and actresses were married in The Little 
Church; and—survival of the old prejudice that 
would have denied Christian burial to George 
Holland—the public concluded that if stage people 
were married there, 1t must be a place where the 
nuptial knot is tied easily—and loosely. 

Despite the facts, despite reiterated publicity 
of the facts, the reputation lasts to this day. 

I’m afraid the world looks with lenient eye upon 
Gretna Greens, sees them in a haze of romance. 
When the unescapable bumps and rubs of every- 
day lfe transmute an over-hasty couple into 
bickering man and wife headed for the divorce 
court, the spot-light is no longer ruby-colored; 
but until then—why, doesn’t all the world love a 
lover? and who more romantic than Lochin- 
var? No, I’m afraid the reputation of being a 
Gretna Green never kept a couple from The Little 
Church. 


For Better, for Worse 281 


And how many it brought there, only to be 
turned away! 

It has been estimated that Dr. Houghton 
turned away nine hundred couples a year, more 
than TWENTY THOUSAND COUPLES during 
his rectorship. 

This seems an exaggerated estimate; but I 
have found three statements made by Dr. Hough- 
ton in which he gives figures that apparently sub- 
stantiate it. 

From the New York Herald, October 30, 1907: 


. in the three months ending on October 
1, I refused to marry 255 couples . 


From the New York World, October 4, 1908: 


. . I turn away on an average one hundred 
couples a month . 


From the New York Herald, March 2, 1909: 


. . I refused to perform the marriage 
ceremony for 120 persons who applied here in 
February . . 


Why did he turn away an average of two out of 
every three couples that came to The Little 
Church to be married? 

Two of his reasons were those of a clergyman 


282 The Little Church Around the Corner 


who conscientiously followed the tenets of his 
Church: 

He would marry no one who had been divorced, 
if the former mate were still living. This was 
arbitrary. 


My position about divorce always has been 
that, from the Church’s point of view, there is 
no such thing; that the sacrament of marriage 
can not be broken except by death. 


He would marry no one who had not been 
baptized. 

The reaction to this latter rule gives glimpse of 
a deep human instinct. Many a grown-up asked 
for baptism: though outside the Christian fold, 
he had come to the Church to have his marriage 
sanctified by ancient usage, and that sanctifica- 
tion must be without flaw. 

In his other reasons for refusal of the marriage 
ceremony, Dr. Houghton went outside his tech- 
nical duties as a clergyman. 

He would not unite in marriage a young couple 
unless they had the consent of parent or guardian. 
He would not solemnize a runaway marriage, a 
secret marriage, any union that had the appear- 
ance of being hasty, ill-considered. 

Here he showed himself a man who, instead of 
following the easy way, sacrificed time, com- 
fort, strength, in the endeavor to save others— 


For Better, for Worse 283 


usually total strangers—from the miseries of mis- 
mating. He believed that a hasty courtship was 
one of the most direct paths to the divorce court. 


One of the most worrying of my duties is 
refusing to marry persons who call upon me, 
softened, it 1s true, in the cases of those whom 
I can persuade to postpone their marriage until 
full consent is given by parents or guardians. I 
am proof against arguments, and tears, and 
pleadings, because my duty is plain; but never- 
theless such scenes are more wearing on the 
nerves than one who is free from this experi- 
ence can understand. I have been kept in the 
parish office for hours listening to appeals and 
entreaties of those whom I could not consist- 
ently unite in the bonds of matrimony. Some- 
times they get down on their knees and plead— 
both of them together. No matter what attitude 
the man may take, it is a foregone conclusion 
that a refusal will bring tears from the woman. 

Of course I could turn them off curtly, but 
that would only shift the responsibility to some 
one else who might yield and that would throw 
the responsibility back to me because I had 
not used my opportunity to prevent the mar- 
riage or at least defer it. 


An onerous, often a difficult task, this sifting 
of would-be brides and grooms. As a first aid, 


984 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Dr. Houghton devised a sieve—a _ close-meshed 
questionnaire to be filled out by prospective bride 
and groom. Among many other questions, the 
man had to answer, “Are you a bachelor or wid- 
ower?’’ the woman, “Are you spinster or widow?” 
Printed in red ink were the following definitions: 


BEFORE marriage every man is BACHE- 
LOR; no man is WIDOWER until AFTER 
wife’s BURIAL. 

BEFORE marriage every woman is SPIN- 
STER; no woman is WIDOW until AFTER 
husband’s BURIAL. 


Do you think those definitions—brutal in their 
bald statement of fact—unnecessary ? 
Then meet the mental reservationist. 


“Have you been married before?” Dr. 
Houghton asked the lady who wanted to be 
married. 

“IT have,’ she answered, eyes lowered but 
voice firm. 

‘“‘And where is your first husband?” 

“Dead!”’ and then in a whisper—“‘to me.” 

But the whisper did not escape the Rector’s 
ears. He fixed his keen eyes on her. 

““Ah, but is he dead to the world?” 

“No,” the lady stammered. 

“Tm sorry. We can’t marry you here.” 


For Better, for Worse 985 


When the applicants filled out the questionnaire 
satisfactorily, and had signed it, they were asked 
to place their hands on the Bible and repeat the 
following: 


We, the undersigned, in the presence of God, 
hereby solemnly declare, without reservation or 
evasion, that the above facts, and all other 
statements, whether in writing or given orally, 
are true in every particular to the best of our 
knowledge and belief. We are of legal age and 
there is absolutely no impediment, opposition 
or objection to our martiage. 


Many broke down under that solemn oath, 
confessed to lying answers. 


A young man, of the type usually spoken of 
as “a clubman’’—well dressed, easy-going, look- 
ing as though he took the world as he found it 
—made application. He filled out the ques- 
tionnaire with acceptable answers. Then I 
put the Bible in his hands and asked him to 
repeat after me, the oath. Before we had gone 
far, beads of perspiration were on his fore- 
head. He laid down the Book. 

“T’ll sign my name to a few lies, but I won’t 
swear to them that way.”’ 


A young couple from Kentucky came to see 
me. The girl was the daughter of a Represen- 


986 The Little Church Around the Corner 


tative or a Senator of the State and the young 
man was her father’s secretary. They said their 
parents knew of their intention of getting 
married. 

“Does your father know of this?”’ I asked 
the girl. 

“Yes, sir, he does. He knows all about it.” 

“And your mother?” 

“She knows about it, too.” 

“Well, of course, you know you will have 
to swear to the truth of these statements. Are 
you willing and prepared to swear that your 
parents approve of this?” 

She was not, and she weakened. Her father 
knew about 1t—she thought that at least he 
suspected it—and so did her mother, but she 
would not say under oath that they knew or 
approved of it. That settled it, for, although 
the young man was insistent everything was 
all right, it was clear the girl’s parents were in 
the dark, as it were. So they went away and 
were married somewhere else. Later it turned 
out that the girl had come here on a visit and 
had telegraphed the young man to meet her. 
When he came they decided to be married. Her 
parents knew nothing of the girl’s plans. 


In October, 1907, Dr. Houghton announced 
that he had decided to publish the banns of 
couples married in The Little Church. In the 


For Better, for Worse 287 


Church of England, in the Roman Catholic 
Church and in the Russian Orthodox Church the 
banns of marriage are called from the altar. But, 
in America, they had never been called from the 
altar or pulpit of a Protestant church. Here was 
an innovation at The Little Church, and news- 
paper reporters were sent to ask “Why?” 
Dr. Houghton’s answer: 


Because I believe it will prove at least one 
check on the hasty marriage, which so often 
and so sadly leads to the divorce court. 

I am not doing the unconventional thing in 
reading the banns every Sunday in the church. 
The laws of the Church provide for it, and 
it is a general custom in the Protestant Epis- 
copal churches of England. Only in America 
has the practice been abandoned. The Church 
law provides that the names of the parties about 
to be married shall be read before the congre- 
gation, and if any one present knows any just 
cause or impediment why the marriage should 
not be performed it is his duty to so inform the 
rector. Sometimes I read the banns twice on 
one Sunday; but usually I read the banns 
three times before the ceremony takes place. 

This is not done because I fear the man or 
woman may be divorced, or perhaps in the 
attempt of bigamy; but because the sacrament 
of marriage should be announced to the world, 


288 The Little Church Around the Corner 


should never be a secret, and also because after 
public announcement, and especially when the 
engagement for marriage has been of short 
duration, two or three weeks for reflection may 
prevent a hasty marriage, later to be deeply 
regretted. This is not a theory: in my experi- 
ence I have seen delay prevent a very large 
number of mis-mated marriages. 


It is evident that Dr. Houghton could have 
required delay in the marriages that he per- 
formed, without falling back upon the old cus- 
tom of publishing the banns. I think that it was 
his hope that other clergymen, alive to the dan- 
ger of the hasty marriage and the growing divorce 
evil, would follow his example, and that a wide- 
spread bulwark would thus be erected that would 
stem the tide that had set in toward loose matri- 
mony. If this were his hope, he was disappointed: 
the old custom saw no revival in America. | 


On one Sunday, having a very considerable 
number of banns to read, each being written out 
on a separate sheet of paper, he placed one 
and another at the bottom of the pile as fast 
as they had been read. At length, having fin- 
ished the number, he continued, “I publish 
the banns of marriage between—”’ then paused, 
realizing that he had gone through with the 
list and was rereading the first. Looking up, 


For Better, for Worse 289 


with a delightful smile, he continued, “‘be- 
tween a great many persons in the course of 
the year.” 


A man who was not afraid to be out of step 
with his generation, who did not shrink from being 
called that antiquated thing—“‘a conservative,” 
who did not scorn the old paths, the old ways. 

He had no tolerance for any but the old way 
of tying the nuptial knot. 


A curate had conducted the wedding rehear- 
sal. Dr. Houghton performed the ceremony. 

It was a large, fashionable wedding. The 
bride and groom were flanked by bridesmaids 
and ushers, behind them, a church filled with 
relatives and friends. 

The ceremony went along smoothly until Dr. 
Houghton repeated the words of the old for- 
mula: | 

*“‘—and to obey.’ 

The bride whispered: “I don’t want to say 
that.” 

**—-and to obey.” 

The groom whispered: ‘She doesn’t want to 
say ‘obey.’”’ 

Again Dr. Houghton’s deep, resonant voice: 

*‘—-and to obey.” 

Then the bride’s voice: “‘—and to obey.” 

And the ceremony continued. 


290 §6The Little Church Around the Corner 


Here is a statement of Dr. Houghton’s views 
on marriage, with illustrative anecdotes from his 
unique experience as the “Marrying Parson.” 
It is based on the memorandum prepared by 
him for a history of The Little Church (one chap- 
ter being devoted to marriage). 


Social conditions and relations, the untoward 
amusements, and the rapidly growing freedom 
of the day, here and abroad, have had much 
influence in bringing about a casual attitude 
toward marriage. The public at large makes too 
light of marriage. Itis a jest to be utilized by the 
maker of puns, the builder of jokes, the cartoon- 
ist, the comic artist. It is far more apt to 
provide material for a comedy at the theatre than 
atragedy. And yet, because young people are no | 
longer taught to consider marriage seriously, it be- 
comes in real life a tragedy, when it should be a 
beautifully rounded out domestic drama. 

It is amazing to what an extent this flippant _ 
attitude has permeated the younger generation. 

A couple entered the rectory office. They 
desired to be married. The bride-to-be asked: 
“Can any one who is married in this church 
get a divorce?” To a protest at such a ques- 
tion at such a time, she replied airily: “Oh, 
marriage is only an experiment.” A half-hour 
talk left her attitude unchanged; and she and 
the young man were turned away. 





The Chantry 


When the wedding party is small, the ceremony is usually performed in the Chantry 


a+ 


iG : 
ge Sow, Bm t- a OV oe 
i ° : ~ pf ate 
ee ers ie 

- F to, 

nt 


ney 


‘ors 


>< 16 
@, 
8, © a 





for Better, for Worse 291 


I was called from my study one morning to 
marry a young girl and a youth, both strangers 
to me. They answered satisfactorily all the 
usual questions. As I started to read the cere- 
mony the girl began to giggle, and she laughed as 
I proceeded. Stopping twice, only to have her 
giggle the more, [ finally closed my book: “By 
your age you are a grown woman. I can not 
punish you as you should be punished for treat- 
ing this service with such levity and disrespect. 
I do not want to refuse to marry you, but I 
can not go on while you are in this state. I 
am going to my study and when you are in a 
more serious frame of mind I will return.” 
Forty-five minutes later, on returning and find- 
ing her in a subdued frame of mind, I per- 
_ formed the ceremony. She went through her 
responses with an expressionless face. At the 
close I asked her if she were happy. “Yes,” 
she replied, “but you have taken all the fun 
out of it.” 

I know the difference between a nervous 
giggle and a flippant giggle. Time and again, 
the latter has caused me to take off my stole 
and walk out. I have let couples wait a half- 
hour, a whole hour; once I let a couple wait 
until the next day. 

One of the most prolific causes of divorce is 
the hasty marriage. It allows no time for the 
couple to study each other and to decide whether 


292 §=©The Little Church Around the Corner 


or not they have in common the tastes and the 
traits which make a union livable. Compatibility 
is one of the foundation stones on which a happy 
marriage is built. When young people marry 
on an acquaintance of only a few weeks, how can 
either judge of the compatibility of the other? 

Legally, you can marry in New York in ten 
minutes. 

Only a clergyman in my position can appre- 
ciate the social danger of the hasty marriage. 
Such a marriage usually means one made with- 
out the knowledge of the parents. That this 
is not only a mistake, but a positive wrong, 
for those under age, goes without saying. It 
is also a mistake for those who are over twenty- 
one. I know that the choice of the parents is 
not always the best. Many times parents 
have objections to the selection made by their 
son or daughter, that are unfounded. But it 
is a safe rule to follow that for a minor the 
parental sanction is a necessary safeguard. As 
to those over twenty-one, a marriage made 
without the parents’ knowledge very naturally 
wounds them deeply. This is particularly true 
between daughter and mother. There is ill- 
feeling, perhaps a family quarrel, estrangement, 
at a time when the path of the young couple 
should be free from needless thorns. Marriage 
in itself, is a step which requires the best pos- 
sible conditions at the start. 


For Better, for Worse 293 


A girl should always tell her mother of her 
intended marriage. There may be a scene— 
there often is, no doubt—but if everything is 
all right, that ends it and all concerned are 
better off for having settled things before the 
marriage than after. Then the heart of the 
parent may have hardened. 

In the course of questioning one young 
couple, the girl broke down and admitted that her 
mother did not know she was to be married. 
“But you don’t know my mother,” she expos- 
tulated. “If I were to tell her I was going to 
be married she’d tear my eyes out.” 

“Then I can not marry you under such cir- 
cumstances. You must get her consent first.”’ 

*“But it’s no use trying.” 

**You must try to get her consent. You must 
tell your mother.”’ 

The next day I received a telegram. They 
were coming back that night to be married— 
with the maternal consent. At 8.30 that even- 
ing the chantry was filled with their friends, 
and the mother sailed up to me impressively 
and informed me that she had brought her 
daughter to be married. 

The girl turned to me when we were alone 
and said: “Oh, but you don’t know what I’ve 
been through.” 

“Yes, but it 1s better to go through it before 
marriage than after. You are all happy now, 


294 Ohe Little Church Around the Corner 


but if you had been married without her con- 
sent she might not have extended forgiveness, 
and then the first cloud of unhappiness would 
have appeared on your domestic horizon.” 

At a southern resort, a few years ago, a lady 
approached me. “This is Dr. Houghton. Don’t 
you know me?”’ 

“Have I met you before?”’ I asked. “If I 
have, then of course I know you.”’ 

“Indeed you have met me,” she laughed. 
“Why, ten years ago you refused to marry me 
to my husband, and by doing so you have 
given us the happiest of married lives.” 

She then recalled that earlier meeting. She 
and her fiance had come to me to be married. 
She was young, in her sophomore year at col- 
lege. Her father refused his consent to the 
marriage because he wanted her to finish her 
college course. Neither she nor her fiance 
wanted to wait, and had determined to marry 
though they believed that the girl’s father 
would never forgive her. I went into the whole 
matter with them, and finally told them I was 
on the side of the father. 

“Go through with your education as your 
father desires. It will make you the better 
wife for your husband.”’ 

“But if I do, I know that father will not let 
me marry for years afterward. He wants me 
to stay home and keep house for him.” 


For Better, for Worse 295 


“You do as I say, and then, after you gradu- 
ate, go to your father and tell him about your 
coming here today, tell him my advice, and 
if he refuses, tell him that I said he must con- 
sent in all fairness to you and to me.” 

The lady laughed as she recalled that con- 
versation. | 

“You were right. When I told my father 
about that day, he gave his consent at once, 
and also gave me the loveliest wedding any girl 
in our town ever had. And because we waited 
those two years, our wedding was without a 
cloud and our marriage has been ideally happy. 
If we had married that day we could not have 
helped being made unhappy by my father’s 
attitude. My husband and I have always 
wanted you to know how much you had to do 
with our happiness.” 

Two people, from out of town, came to me in 
the rectory one Sunday night. He was forty- 
four, she thirty-eight, old enough to know 
their own minds, but something made me hes- 
itate. By questioning them I discovered that 
they had come into town for a pleasure trip, 
had dined well, and had decided to wind up by 
being quietly married. They had not thought 
of the mother and sisters he was supporting, 
nor the family who loved her. There was 
apparently no legal impediment, certainly they 
were sober. It was just a whim—and mar- 


296 The Little Church Around the Corner 


riage should not be founded on whims. We 
talked together long and earnestly. Finally 
the woman began to cry softly. The man rose 
and took my hand. 

“Dr. Houghton, I am more than grateful for 
what you have said. We will take the matter 
up with our people and perhaps come back 
to you again—but it may not be for some 
time.” 

Probably family responsibilities and duties 
lay between these two people. When one fails 
in the duty to mother, father and others de- 
pending upon one, the seed is sown for bicker- 
ings, misunderstandings, family dissensions on 
both sides. 

When a man has gone through experience 
after experience like these, he feels that he can 
speak emphatically on the danger of hasty 
marriages. I do not say that all hasty mar- 
riages end unhappily, but I do say that for 
marriage, as for every other important step in 
life, time, thought, prayer and preparation 
are essential. 

I am quite within bounds when I say that 
more than three thousand “‘runaway couples,” 
who have been refused marriage during the past 
fifteen years, have been persuaded to go home 
again, and either obtain their parents’ consent or 
put off the marriage until such time as they could 
obtain it. [The italics are mine. G.M.] 


For Better, for Worse 297 


The scene between would-be bride and groom 
and the clergyman who denies them their desire, 
is not always one whose quiet is broken only 
by pleas and sobs. Not unseldom there is bel- 
ligerency. 

A man came to the rectory with a woman 
he wanted to marry. They were accompanied 
by her uncle who was her guardian. My ques- 
tions were answered satisfactorily. The uncle 
gave his consent. But when it came to taking 
the oath as to the truth of their answers, the 
man admitted that he was divorced. I told 
them that I could not perform the ceremony. 
The two men were highly indignant. The 
groom insisted that it was my “business” to 
marry them, that I simply had to do it. He 
finally became so abusive, threatening me with 
his fists, that my servant, who had entered the 
room at the sound of angrily pitched voices, 
stepped between us. With a calmness which 
I fear I did not entirely feel, I explained my 
reasons for refusing to perform the ceremony. 

“Marriage,” I added, “is not a machine- 
made contract. It is a sacrament of my Church. 
The performance of the marriage service is not 
obligatory upon a clergyman. It is entirely 
within his discretion. And now I must ask you 
to leave.” 

Through all this distressing conflict the 
woman sat in silence. I could not read her 


298 The Little Church Around the Corner 


mind. At my last words, the man exclaimed: 
“T am a newspaper man, and I'll make it my 
business to show you up all over the country. 
You think you can dictate. Well, Dll soon 
show the people what you are.” 

The woman looked steadily at him as he said 
this. Then she rose from her chair and slowly 
left the study. The two men followed her. 

I have wondered if this scene opened her 
eyes to the quality of man she had promised 
to marry, or if she went through with the cere- 
mony somewhere else. 

The number of persons who apply for mar- 
riage while under the influence of liquor, is 
larger than the inexperienced would imagine; 
and the same is true of cases where one or 
the other is subject to undue influence. I am 
not prepared to discuss the efficacy of hypno- 
tism as a means of compelling one person to 
do the bidding of another; but I think I have 
seen some fairly good examples of this sort. 
Sometimes it is the man who is the offender, 
but very often it is a designing woman. 

Once when I was called into the parish office 
by a request for marriage, I found the man 
was almost ninety years old. It happened 
that I knew him. He was a man who lived 
in a brownstone mansion on Fifth Avenue. He 
was a man of considerable wealth, a highly 
respected citizen, a communicant of the Church. 


Sor Better, for Worse 299 


The woman was a very dressy person of twenty- 
five or twenty-six years of age. 

*“Mr. Soandso,” I asked, “‘what can I do for 
your” 

The old gentleman seemed very much em- 
barrassed and hesitated. Then looked at the 
woman helplessly. 

“We want to get married,” said she. 

“TI presume you do. But I want to talk to 
my old friend a bit.” 

I asked her to step into an adjoining room as 
I wished to speak to him in private. To that 
she would not agree. 

“Very well; if you wish to hear what I have 
to say you may remain, but I do not want to 
be interrupted.”’ 

Turning to my old friend, I asked: “Isn’t 
_your home life happy, and are not your chil- 

dren treating you well?” 

“Yes.” 

**A man of your age does not need a wife,” I 
continued. “You have dutiful children and 
plenty of servants.” 

“Yes, I know that; but I am lonesome.”’ 

I advised travel, but he demurred. 

Meanwhile, the woman had made frequent 
efforts to state her position. After some fur- 
ther plain speech from me, the old man came 
to himself. 

“You are right. Ill take your advice. I 


300) «s- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


didn’t want to marry her. She wanted to 
marry me.” (Adam was still alive!) 

The woman stormed and wept. 

She said I had used undue influence on the 
weakness of an old man! 

“Not so much as you have,” I answered. 

We put her in a cab, and as she was driven 
away, by herself, she thrust her head out of the 
window. 

“Tl never forgive you.” 

And many another one who has met the 
same sort of opposition from me, has felt the 
same way, whether she has said it or not! 

One night, some years ago, I was called 
from my work by a couple who came in well 
after midnight. The man was but a boy. He 
said he was twenty-four. Afterwards I learned 
he was a student at a well known university. 
The woman in the case was a chorus girl, rather 
pretty, but somewhat coarse in appearance 
and manners. They soon stated their wishes. 

I asked the young man his name, and when 
he told me: “Was your father an officer in 
Company in the Regiment in the 
Civil War?” 

Yes A 

This lad was the son of one of my old friends 
whom I had not seen for more than thirty years. 

“Does your father know that you are in 
New York and are contemplating this marriage?” 








For Better, for Worse 301 


6¢ No.”’ 

“Oh, that’s all right,’ chirped the girl, “‘he’s 
of age. He’s twenty-four!” 

“T did not put the question to you,” I replied 
to the girl; and then turning to the boy: “I 
knew your father. He was one of my dearest 
friends. I can’t see his boy do this without 
knowing whether or not his father wishes it. 
You are both under the influence of liquor. 
This person with you may seem all right to 
you tonight—but will it be the same when you 
are sober? Now if you two will part com- 
pany now and here, and you will come to me 
tomorrow with a letter from your father giv- 
ing his consent to your marriage, I shall be 
willing to perform the ceremony, but not other- 
wise.” 3 

The boy listened attentively; and then the 
girl went up to him and tried to take his hand, 
but he was not responsive. 

“Let me think about this a moment—”’ A 
brief silence, and he turned to me: ‘“‘ You have 
given me good advice, Doctor, and I am going 
to take it. I shall see my father before doing 
this. We were just out for a lark and it sud- 
denly occurred to us to come here.” 

Then the girl began to weep. She vowed 
she would sue him for a breach of promise. We 
had to take her out and put her in the hansom. 
She fought and kicked and shrieked. We could 


302 - The Hittle Church Around the Corner 


hear the screams even after the vehicle had 
crossed Madison Avenue. 

I walked with the boy to his hotel that 
night. He did not come back in the morning. 
He married some time later—but not that 
girl. 

Intoxicated couples appear at the rectory 
mostly at night. I have had as many as three 
or four in a single night, their brains so addled 
by liquor that they scarcely knew what they 
were doing. Sometimes one or the other uses 
this means of obtaining the consent of the reluc- 
tant one to the marriage. There are many 
pitiful cases of this sort. 

There is another class of couples that liquor 
brings to the rectory. With these, it is usually 
the woman only who is actually intoxicated. 
As a rule, their speech, manner, dress, give evi- 
dence of respectability. They have gone out 
to dinner. The girl has taken a cocktail, wine, 
and, being unused to intoxicants, gets in such 
a condition that she dare not go home. What 
is to be done? Why, get married! 

Amazing as it may seem, I have had young 
men tell me that the girl was afraid to go home 
in an intoxicated condition, and that he did 
not know what else to do but marry her! 

I have no doubt that, despite my urgings that 
the one only course was to take the girl to her 
home and face whatever storm there might be 





“The Marrying Parson” 


Behind him, the little green door through which 
thousands of brides and grooms have passed. 

That door opened into no Gretna Green. Dr. Houghton 
performed over seven thousand five hundred marriage 
ceremonies: he refused the ceremony to over twenty 
thousand couples. 





For Better, for Worse 303 


—I have no doubt that many of these couples 
went elsewhere—to their sorrow. 


All rules, save one, were brushed aside for the 
bride who confessed that she—had come too late. 
That one rule that stood, inexorable, despite 
pleas, tears, piteous exhibitions of despair, was 
that the marriage certificate would not be dated 
back. The certificate bore the date of the day 
on which she was married, let the date of the 
birth of her first-born be what it might. 

To the eye of one who sees hundreds of brides, 
something—perhaps merely in the manner, in the 
speech—gives hint of the secret burden. If this 
suspicion were aroused, and the suspicion were 
confirmed by a confession (it 1s astonishing how, 
under the most indirect, tactful questioning, the 
barriers of silence are swept away) the marriage was 
performed immediately, regardless of other rules. 

When it became a question of marrying the 
parents of an unborn child, there was another life 
to consider—an innocent to be saved from the 
stigma of illegitimacy. 

Dr. Houghton’s attitude toward marriages of 
this sort—also his kindliness toward two people 
whom The Righteous would have treated as 
moral delinquents—is shown in the following inci- 
dent, related to me by his secretary. 


Sunday afternoon, just before the Evensong 
service, a taxi drew up. Down the churchyard 


304 The Little Church Around the Corner 


path came two couples, one young, the other 
middle-aged. All were silent, sober-faced. No 
one would have guessed that it was a wedding 
party. 

In the office of the rectory, the young couple 
stood in the background, close to the wall. It 
was the middle-aged man who spoke. The girl 
was his daughter. She and “this young man”’ 
(he\‘was only a lad) had come to be married. 
They (the girl’s parents) wanted the ceremony 
performed immediately. 

The Rector’s secretary explained that this 
was impossible; that the law required that a 
license be secured before marriage; and that, the 
day being Sunday, the license bureau was closed. 

Then the story was told: 

The girl was “in trouble’—had been for 
some time; the father of the child was a sailor; 
his ship was to sail that night, at midnight; he 
would not be home again for a month or more. 

The secretary went upstairs, and put the case 
before Dr. Houghton. 

“Call up Mr. Scully at his home.” [The 
man in charge of the marriage license bureau.| 
“If you reach him, ask him if he won't, as a 
special favor to me, go down to his office and 
issue a license for this couple.” 

A little later, Dr. Houghton came down the 
stairs, on his way into the church. He stopped 
at the door. 


Sor Better, for Worse 305 


“Have you reached Mr. Scully?”’ 

6¢ No.”’ 

“Keep on trying.” 

The wedding party sat in silence. From the 
open windows of the Chantry came the inton- 
ing of the evening service. 

Then, through the church door, came the 
congregation, pausing, in little groups for chat, 
strolling homeward in the hush of a beautiful 
Sabbath twilight. 

On the stairway, holding up his cassock with 
one hand, Dr. Houghton paused. 

* Any luck?” 

*““No; I haven’t been able to reach Mr. 
Scully.”’ 

“Well, I may go to jail or pay a fine, but marry 
them I will.” 

The wedding party followed him upstairs, 
to the little oratory that opened off the recep- 
tion room. The secretary accompanied them 
to act as a witness. 

The service was read with that fine sympathy 
that Dr. Houghton could put in his voice when 
his heart prompted him. 

When the service came to that part where 
the ring is used, the clergyman turned to the 
lad, hand extended. 

““I—I didn’t get a ring,” he stammered. 

Dr. Houghton reached over to a little shelf. 

“I bought this ring in London many years 


306 «6. Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


ago. It has been resting here altogether too 
long.” 

He handed it to his secretary. 

“Don’t you think you can polish it up a 
little?’ 

She went to the maid’s pantry and hurriedly 
used some silver polish. 

When she brought it back, Dr. Houghton 
glanced at it. 

“You didn’t get that ring as bright as it 
ought to be.” 

He handed it to the groom. As the lad 
slipped it on the girl’s finger, the two exchanged 
a quick glance—the first, since they had passed 
through the churchyard gate, that was intimate, 
free from shadow. 

And the faces of the bride’s parents had 
relaxed. In their eyes were tears. 

The giving of that ring, and the manner of 
giving it, was the little human touch that 
melted the stern grimness of that wedding 
ceremony. 

Two years later, Dr. Houghton received a 
letter. It was from the girl’s mother. Her 
daughter and son-in-law were happy and doing 
well—so also was a granddaughter. 


From a letter, one of many pitched in the same 
key, that I have found in the old black-leather 
valise: 


For Better, for Worse 307 


My pear Mr. Hovcuton: 

It has been three happy years to-day since 
you made Laura B and John McC one, 
and I cannot resist the temptation of writing 
and telling you that God never gave a woman 
a better man than he has been to me. 

[A paragraph recounting their modest suc- 
cess. | 

God has indeed blessed us, and may He won- 
derfully bless the man who made us one. 

Please pardon me, I had to tell you. 

Very sincerely yours, 


Laura McC——. 








When the newspaper men came to see Dr. 
Houghton on his golden jubilee—an old man 
looking back over his life—he said: 

“One of my pleasantest and most satisfactory 
recollections is that I have started so many men 
and women, the greater number of them young, 
on the road to two of the greatest and most nor- 
mal of human experiences—marriage and parent- 
hood. I like to believe that most of the marriages 
I have performed, if not all, have turned out 


happily.” 


SOBS AND SMILES 


How much of human nature they see at The 
Little Church! Happiness, Sorrow, Comedy, 
Tragedy—now one, now the other, is the master 
of the show. 

The scene was usually that dingy little room in 
the basement of the rectory, where, behind a big, 
flat-topped desk, sat the local Rhadamanthus, the 
secretary to the rector. All day long she sat be- 
hind that desk, waiting to make arrangements for 
marriages, baptisms, funerals. I use the past tense; 
for the successor of the late Dr. Houghton has re- 
modelled the rectory, and the basement room has 
lost its dinginess, has lost the shelves of disordered 
books and the old pictures and the other haphazard 
accumulations of the years. The renovated room 
is more orderly, more convenient; still, one can 
not avoid a regret for the passing of the time- 
stained background—it seemed a place where the 
ghosts of old things could find habitation. 


A tall, handsome young man hurried into the 
room. His voice was subdued, tense. It was ap- 
308 


Sobs and Smiles 309 


parent that he was holding a tight check on his 
emotions. 

“Can you perform a marriage ceremony im- 
mediately?” 

‘*We never care to do it unless there are excep- 
tional circumstances.” 

**'There are exceptional circumstances: the young 
lady may die at any moment.” 

‘“ Why !—where is she?”’ 

‘At the Hotel.” 

Then came the old story of unwedded love, with 
a sequel of malpractice. But “no sin can be a 
barrier,” and so, within the hour there was a bed- 
side marriage. 





It was a Summer day and the door stood open. 

‘Here come the Babes-in-the-Woods to be mar- 
ried,” laughingly remarked some one standing in 
the room, as a couple, a youth and a maiden, turned 
from the street and came down the churchyard 
path. 

Sure enough they had come to be made man and 
wife. Some one had erred at the License Bureau, 
for they had the credential required by law. 

“Who knows about this marriage?”’ 

“Nobody,” responded the would-be bridegroom. 

‘“‘And you’ve come all the way from Philadel- 
phia?”’ 

“Yes, ma’am.”’ 


310 The Little Church Around the Corner 


The secretary turned to the girl: 

“Where are your father and mother?” 

““They’re dead.” 

“With whom were you living?”’ 

With Aunty.” 

“Now, little girl, do you think this is giving 
Aunty a square deal?” 

Sniffles, then sobs. 

“No, ma’am; we'll go right home again.”’ 

And, waiting just long enough for eyes to be 
dried, the Babes-in-the-Woods walked back, down 
the churchyard path, leaving their license behind 
them. 


He was a little man, and he came alone to make 
arrangements for the wedding. He answered the 
necessary questions; the day and hour of the cere- 
mony were fixed. 

Then he asked: 

*“Wouldn’t you like to see the wedding ring?”’ 

Out of his vest pocket he took a chamois bag, 
and out of that he took a beautifully chased 
platinum ring set with diamonds. 

“Oh, what a fine ring!” exclaimed the secre- 
tary. “But I should think you would be afraid of 
losing it.” 

‘Trust me to take good care of it,’’ he reassured 
her, exhibiting a huge safety-pin with which he 
fastened it in his vest pocket. 


Sobs and Smiles 311 


The day before the wedding he returned to 
make sure that everything was all right. Again 
he exhibited the ring, and again he clamped it in 
his vest pocket with the huge safety-pin. 

The next day, at the appointed hour, bride and 
bridegroom arrived, accompanied by a dozen or 
more relatives and friends. They crowded into 
the little room while the blanks were being filled 
in. At last all was attended to. The secretary 
smiled: 

“T think you’re ready to go into the church 
now.” 

The bride smiled, the relatives and friends 
smiled. But a blank look had come over the face 
of the bridegroom. He could only gasp: 

“T’ve changed my vest.”’ 





The bride gave her age: thirty-eight. Judging 
by her appearance, she was telling the venial lie of 
her sex. Downcast eyes—this was her second mar- 
riage. Yes, a widow. The date for the wedding 
was fixed: a couple of weeks hence, in the evening. 

The next day she was back at the church, “to 
discuss arrangements for the ceremony.”’ 

Would there be any objection if a friend, “‘who 
is simply a wonderful musician,” played the 
organ? 

No, there would be no objection to that. 

Could she decorate the altar with flowers? 


8312 The Little Church Around the Corner 


Yes, that would be all right. 

Then she launched out into other details: the 
music that her friend was to play; the guests 
that had been invited; described her wedding 
dress, ‘‘white satin trimmed with etc., etc., etc.’’; 
she was going to wear orange blossoms in her 
hair. 

It would seem that all had been arranged, that 
all had been told; but the following day found her 
again at the Church. So also the next day. She 
came back so many times and fussed over the de- 
tails so much, that the secretary became wearied 
of her. 

The bride must have caught some hint of this, 
for she dropped—momentarily—out of her aura of 
romance. 

“TI didn’t have much at my first wedding,” she 
said. ‘“‘This time, I’m going to have all that I 
want.” 

The night of the wedding came and brought with 
it a terrific downpour of rain. The bride and 
groom arrived (white satin dress, orange blossoms 
in her hair); but not a friend, not even the one who 
was to play the organ. 

The bride, the groom and the minister sat down 
in the empty church—and waited. It was one of 
those occasions when there is not much to be said, 
an occasional “I wonder what’s keeping them?” 
or “Why don’t they come!” breaking the monoto- 
nous beating of the rain against the windows. 


Sobs and Smiles 313 


The hour-hand crept around. 

“Well,” said the bride, her voice lack-lustre, 
“T suppose we may as well go on with the 
ceremony.” | 

“Tm perfectly willing to wait longer,” said the 
minister, sorry for the blighted bride. 

‘**No, we'll be married now.” 

Some years later, the husband called at the of- 
fice of the secretary. Six months after their mar- 
riage, he noticed that his wife was secretive with 
letters; then he discovered that she was sending 
away some of the money he gave her for household 
expenses; finally she chanced to drop a letter—her 
first husband was living. 


ee 


The office was crowded with the wedding party. 
All were silent while the bridegroom filled in the 
blanks. For the purpose of this story, we’ll call 
him Smith. 

The secretary looked over the marriage license. 
It gave the groom’s name as “John Enough 
Smith.” 

She said: 

“The clerk at the License Bureau has made a 
mistake; see what a ridiculous middle name he 
has given you— Enough.’”’ 

Without looking up the groom replied, dryly: 

“No mistake on the part of the clerk. My 


314 The Little Church Around the Corner 


mother gave me that middle name—I was the 
seventh child.” 


As they stood before the desk they looked an 
ideally mated couple—both young, both good- 
looking, both radiant with health and happiness. 
Joy is talkative; they sketched their romance. 

During the war she had crossed the ocean, 
driven an ambulance at the front. He was an 
English Army officer. They met, fell in love, and 
now here they were at The Little Church to be 
married. 

They were unaccompanied. And so. as often 
happened when the wedding party was very small, 
they were taken upstairs to the oratory that 
opened off the reception room. The secretary 
accompanied them, to act as one of the witnesses. 

No sooner was the ceremony completed than the 
bride went to the bay window and began to cry 
bitterly. 

The groom was dumfounded. 

**T’ve seen her under fire, but I never before saw 
her give way to nerves.” 

A few minutes, and she got control of herself. 
They went away, both all smiles. 

About a week later a United States Army officer 
entered the office downstairs. He was a man ap- 
proaching 50, holding high rank. He took a silver- 


Sobs and Smiles 315 


framed photograph from his pocket and laid it on 
the desk before the secretary. 

“Do you recognize that young woman?”’ 

The secretary looked at the face, but could not 
recall having seen it before. 

‘““Wasn’t she married here on such-and-such a 
date?” 

Then the secretary remembered her—the girl 
who had wept in the bay window. Curiosity 
seekers often come to The Little Church, and so the 
secretary asked: 

**Are you related?”’ 

“Yes; she is my—my wife.”’ 

The record of the bigamy was shown. 

The husband winced. He only said: ‘‘She went 
while I was overseas with the army—I had no idea 
she was not at home—she told the truth to the 
Englishman the night of their marriage—he left 
her immediately—it was he that told me in a let- 
ter.’ He turned to the door. In a dull monotone 
that was addressed to no one: “Three lives 
wrecked.”’ 


CROSSWAYS OF “ROADS OF DESTINY” 


Turn from The Little Church Around the 
Corner into Fifth Avenue, walk south three short 
blocks and you come to the northwest corner of 
Madison Square. Now turn into Twenty-sixth 
Street, walk west about the same distance and you 
come to the Caledonia, the apartment house where 
William Sydney Porter, generally known as O. 
Henry, lived and wrote during the greater part of 
his years in New York. 

Madison Square and its environs were favorite 
prowling ground of the author. It was inevitable 
that The Little Church Around the Corner should 
attract his attention. I think in some half-dozen 
of his stories The Little Church can be distin- 
guished in the background, though in only one, 
“The Romance of a Busy Broker,’ does he men- 
tion it by name. I have no doubt that it was be- 
fore The Little Church that Soapy halted, as re- 
lated in “The Cop and the Anthem.” Along the 
route taken that night by the vagrant, there is no 
other church that this description fits: 


An old church, quaint and rambling and 
gabled. Through one violet-stained window 
316 


189K 94} JO suosvas |e uy 
O Ily Uv SBY I9UIOD 9Y} PUNOIY YoINYD 9[}}1] oy Ie9X 

TY jon 

sWOH jo ‘ssaul[puslr 

Sassen ris ; 


+ ae * Les a 
+ tana Tata tities Ry 
it i | . 2 


Lee 3 
atatat 
aa ‘ 
iH} 











Lod Se yes writ: oe a 
et atatatat tititst SHEET 
Bey 


4%, 46 ee 
lmtttatat. cos 


peepee i I ig 





Han 
NRAIADAMA A catas Racietsniy, dl 
a oe © 





Crosswaps of “ Roads of Destiny ”’ ts 


a soft light glowed, where, no doubt, the or- 
ganist loitered over the keys, making sure of his 
mastery of the coming Sabbath anthem. For 
there drifted out to Soapy’s ears sweet music 
that caught and held him transfixed against the 
convolutions of the iron fence. 

The moon was above, lustrous and serene; 
vehicles and pedestrians were few; sparrows 
twittered sleepily in the eaves—for a little while 
the scene might have been a country church- 
yard. And the anthem that the organist played 
cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had 
known it well in the days when his life con- 
tained such things as mothers and roses and 
ambitions and friends and immaculate thoughts 
and collars. 

The conjunction of Soapy’s receptive state of 
mind and the influences about the old church 
wrought a sudden and wonderful change in his 
soul. . | 


It was from The Little Church Around the Cor- 
ner that O. Henry was buried. By some strange 
mischance—one of those striking interweavings 
we expect only in fiction—a marriage ceremony 
was scheduled for the same hour. The error was 
not discovered until the wedding party and the 
funeral party reached the church. 

Though Sorrow elbowed Happiness aside for an 
hour, it was very gently done. It happened on a 


318 The Little Church Around the Corner 


sunshiny June morning, and Fate must have been 
in a benign mood, for that autocrat, usually so un- 
sparing, handled the incident just about as O. 
Henry would have done had he invented it and put 
it in one of his stories. There was just enough 
tangling of the light with the dark thread of life 
for dramatic contrast, just enough to illustrate 
poignantly the tragic truth that death stalks life. 
But a wedding day is pre-eminently the bride’s 
day, and the bride of that marriage fourteen years 
ago did not know that the grim shadow had been 
cast athwart the very threshold of her new path. 
She waited in a hotel while the funeral service was 
read in the church, believing that another bride 
and groom were at the altar, that one romance had 
merely yielded precedence to another. And so it 
all fell out gently, just as O. Henry would have 
had it happen. 

I attended the funeral, meeting by appointment, 
in the churchyard, Peyton Steger of Doubleday, 
Page & Co., the author’s publishers, who had be- 
come a close friend of O. Henry, acting as his 
bookkeeper, banker and general financial guardian. 
Before going in to the service, Mr. Steger, who had 
arrived first, told me of the error that had been 
made in the church calendar, and that the bridal 
party had yielded precedence to the dead. The 
incident escaped the reportorial eye, for there was 
no mention of it in the newspaper accounts of the 
funeral. 


Crosswaps of ‘Roads of Destiny ”’ 319 


The rector of the church, the Rev. Dr. George 
Clarke Houghton, officiated. As is customary in 
the Episcopalian Church, he followed the ritual, 
the only deviation being that just before the close of 
the service he read “Crossing the Bar,” a favorite 
poem, read by him at many a last ceremony. 
A number of us have remembered across the 
gap of years the beauty and sympathy of his 
delivery: 


Sunset and evening star, 
And one clear call for me, 

And may there be no moaning of the Bar 
When I put out to sea. 


The pallbearers were Richard Harding Davis, 
Walter Hines Page, Dr. John H. Finley, Will Irwin, 
Don Seitz and John O’Hara Cosgrave. 

There was no jam of people at the church, no 
such crowd as a newspaper man is accustomed to 
see at the funeral of a district leader or some other 
such personage. But it was a large attendance for 
the funeral of an author. The church was well 
filled. 

QO. Henry had died in a city to which he had 
come whe. he was a mature man, and in which, so 
far as any large circle of acquaintances was con- 
cerned, he had studiously remained a stranger. 
The attendance at the church was largely made up 
of those who knew him only through his books. It 


320 - The Little Church Around the Corner 


was a touching tribute to the sense of friendship 
that he inspires in his readers. 

Twelve years later, in an article, ““O. Henry’s 
Only Autobiographia,”’ that I wrote for The New 
York Times Book Review, brief mention was made 
of this ‘““O. Henry incident.’’ Some extracts were 
published in a woman’s magazine. By merest 
chance a copy of the magazine was brought to the 
attention of the quondam bride. She wrote me a 
letter that resulted in a meeting at her dinner- 
table. And so it came about that at last it was 
possible to put together the complete story of this 
touching little episode. 

Let us follow the two threads—first the dark, 
and then the light—which were to become en- 
tangled, just for a few moments, on the morning of 
June 7, 1910, at The Little Church Around the 
Corner. 

In the Fall of 1909, O. Henry, broken in health, 
went to Asheville, North Carolina, where his wife 
and daughter lived. He tried to write, but the 
stories that were in his head refused to materialize 
on paper. He missed the stimulus of the pulsing 
life of the great city. The following Spring (1910) 
found him back in Little Old Bagdad-on-the-Sub- 
way. He wrote to a friend: “Didn’t pick up down 
there as well as I should have done. There was too 
much scenery and fresh air. What I need is a 
steam-heated flat with no ventilation or exercise.” ° 


Wednesday, June 1, he and William Griffith, 


Crosswaps of ‘‘ Roads of Destiny ”’ 321 


one of his New York cronies, spent the early eve- 
ning bowling. O. Henry was in buoyant humor. 
When the last game had been played, he rolled a 
handful of coins down the alley to the pin boys. 
Then the two friends adjourned to the Victoria 
Hotel for dinner. In the course of the evening, 
Griffith said: 

“You ought not to limit yourself to short 
stories. Why don’t you write something that has 
a bigger, broader scope?”’ 

“That’s just what I intend to do.” Then he 
outlined a story, one that he planned should run to 
about forty thousand words. ‘I’m going to get at 
it right away.” While they were talking of these 
things of the future, O. Henry remarked: “‘This 
town is mine oyster, and I’m going to crack it wide 
open this time.” 

Two nights later he was alone in his apartment 
in the Caledonia, when the infirmities that he had 
been fighting so gamely suddenly got the mastery. 
He managed to reach the telephone and call a 
friend; then the receiver fell from his hand and he 
sank to the floor. 

The receiver remaining off the hook for some 
length of time, and no voices on the wire, the boy 
at the switchboard became suspicious that some- 
thing was wrong. He summoned the superin- 
tendent who found O. Henry lying unconscious 
where he had fallen. 

Within a few moments the friend arrived. Dr. 


322 «—- Nhe Little Church Around the Corner 


Charles Russell Hancock was called. It was now 
midnight. O. Henry was hurried in a taxicab to 
the Polyclinic Hospital on East Thirty-fourth 
Street. On entering the hospital, the friend, know- 
ing the author’s dislike of publicity, asked: 

“What name shall we register you under?”’ 

* Call me Dennis: my name will be Dennis in the 
morning.” 

He had great difficulty in breathing. After 
reaching the hospital he had to be propped up with 
pillows. If he attempted to lie down he could not 
get his breath. He retained consciousness and 
knew that death was approaching. 

As soon as offices were opened the next morning 
(Saturday) the friend who had accompanied O. 
Henry to the hospital telephoned John O’Hara 
Cosgrave, then editor of Everybody’s. Mr. Cos- 
grave hastened to the Polyclinic. He was the only 
friend that O. Henry saw after the hospital doors 
closed on him. Gilman Hall, then managing editor 
of Everybody’s, arrived just a little later, but 
meanwhile orders had been issued that no one be 
admitted to the sick man’s room. Mr. Hall was 
positive that O. Henry would want to see him, and 
he plead, argued and finally stormed; but the doc- 
tor remained obdurate. And so the man to whom 
the genial eye of friendship meant so much, passed 
those last, long hours in the bleakness of a hospital 
room, only a doctor and a nurse, both strangers, for 
that final leave-taking. 


Crosstuaps of ‘ Roads of Destiny ”’ 323 


Dr. Hancock remained with him until about 
midnight. Apparently the dying man realized 
that, with his labored breathing, the hour before 
dawn, when life beats slow even for the healthy, 
might carry him off. Just as the doctor was leav- 
ing, O. Henry looked up with a little quizzical 
smile, and said: 

‘Put the pillows up higher—I don’t want to go 
home in the dark.” 

The doctor was back at the hospital at 5:30 the 
next morning. He saw that death was near. O. 
Henry was conscious until within two minutes of 
theend. His last words were: “Send for Mr. Hall.” 
Dr. Hancock was the only person with him. He 
died at six minutes past 7 o’clock. It was a bright 
Sabbath morning. O. Henry did not go home in 
the dark. 

After being refused the privilege of seeing his 
dying friend, Mr. Hall had left word at the hospital 
that should the expected happen he was to be noti- 
fied at the Caledonia. He spent the day and night 
waiting. When the telephone brought him the 
news he immediately called up Mr. Griffith and 
Mr. Steger, neither of whom he had been able to 
reach the previous day. 

The three met in that room, one flight up, over- 
looking the street, where they had so often heard a 
soft, drawling voice call them “‘Colonel”’ or “Bill.” 
(O. Henry’s friends were all Colonel or Bill inter- 
changeably.) 


324 The Little Church Around the Corner 


The Little Church Around the Corner was 
selected as the place where the funeral service 
should be held. : 

They called on the rector. Dr. Houghton was 
very much shocked on hearing of the author’s 
sudden death. He said that he had enjoyed his 
stories, and recalled particularly the one in 
which The Little Church is mentioned. Tues- 
day, June 7, 11 Aa.M., was the time fixed for the 
funeral service. 

At 5 o'clock that Sunday afternoon the widow, 
not yet knowing of her widowhood, arrived 
from Asheville, whence she had been sum- 
moned by telegraph the day before. Her hus- 
band’s friends met her at the Pennsylvania 
Station. There was no need of speech; their 
faces told the news. 

She was taken to the undertaking shop of the 
sexton of The Little Church. After along look at 
her husband’s body, she turned to his friends: 

“T think that is he. I’m sure those are his 
hands.” 

The sexton afterward told Mr. Hall that the 
body had been very carelessly treated in the 
morgue at the hospital, and that he had had great 
difficulty in straightening out the limbs and pre- 
paring the body for burial. 

The body remained at the little undertaking 
shop on Fourth Avenue, near Twenty-ninth Street, 
until the hour set for the funeral. 


Crossways of ‘Roads of Destiny ”’ 325 


Now let us drop the dark thread and take up the 
light. 

For a couple of years Frederick C. Thomas, a 
widower, some years on the sunny side of forty, 
had been courting Miss Ida Louise, the youngest 
daughter of James E. Crossley, a retired land- 
holder living in East Orange, N. J. Mr. Thomas 
was (and is) a prosperous New York business man. 
His first wife had left him three children, two 
sturdy boys and a very pretty daughter, the oldest 
10, the youngest 7. 

The courtship led to an engagement which was 
announced in February, 1910. Of course June, the 
month of roses and brides, was the one selected for 
the marriage. The 7th was fixed as the day, 11 as 
the hour. 

The Crossley family attended Grace Church in 
Orange. But the rector, at the time, was holiday- 
ing in Europe, and so Miss Crossley had the op- 
portunity to indulge a romantic fancy that she had 
had since girlhood. ““When I’m married, it’s 
going to be in The Little Church Around the 
Corner,” she had always said. 

To avoid any chance of disappomtment, the 
groom went to The Little Church more than a fort- 
night before the chosen day. In the dingy room in 
the basement of the rectory he saw the local 
Rhadamanthus. Yes, the church would be avail- 
able on June 7 at 11 o’clock and Dr. Houghton 
would perform the ceremony. 


326 «6 The Little Church Around the Corner 


It was to be a small wedding, the guests being 
limited to members of the two families and in- 
timate friends, about forty in all being invited. A 
wedding breakfast was to be served at the Holland 
House, almost within stone-throw of the church. 

The great day came and it was just such a day 
as brides would have if weather could be made to 
order. As it was a small wedding, some of the 
formalities were ignored; and so the groom went to 
the bride’s home and together they motored from 
East Orange to The Little Church. 

“Be very careful,” said the bride to the family 
chauffeur, “I want to reach the church exactly at 
11, not a minute before or after.” 

Meanwhile, Arthur D. Thomas, the groom’s 
brother, who was to act as best man, went to the 
church about fifteen minutes before the hour, to 
see that everything was ready. As he turned off 
Fifth Avenue into Twenty-ninth Street, he was 
amazed to discover quite a number of people, all of 
them strangers, standing in the churchyard. He 
went into the church. The pews were filling up 
with strangers. Many of them were in black or 
wore some badge of mourning. 

The sexton, black-gloved, professionally sombre, 
was at the door. 

“The funeral of O. Henry,” said he, “‘is to be 
held at 11.” 

The best man went to Dr. Houghton. 

“‘A blunder has apparently been made,” said the 


Crossways of ‘ Roads of Destiny” 327 


rector. ‘“‘The only thing that can be done is for 
the bride and groom to wait an hour. I will marry 
them at noon.” | 

The best man’s one thought was to keep the 
bride from any knowledge of the shadow that had 
suddenly fallen on her path. He hurried to the 
curb, and stood anxiously waiting, hoping that 
both hearse and bridal party would not be punctual 
to the minute. 

Promptly at 11 the Crossley automobile turned 
the corner and drew up at the churchyard gate. 
The groom jumped out, and was about to assist 
the bride, when his brother checked him. 

‘Another girl has got ahead of you,” he said to 
the bride. ‘“‘You’ll have to come back in an 
hour.” ‘To the groom he whispered the truth, sug- 
gesting that they wait at the Holland House. 

The pallbearers were waiting, just within the 
churchyard, for the hearse to arrive. 

*Wouldn’t O. Henry have enjoyed this?” Will 
Irwin remarked. 

Fortunately there had been a few minutes’ de- 
lay at the undertaker’s shop on Fourth Avenue. 
As the bridal car drove out of one end of the street 
the hearse entered the other. 

The best man had acquainted the guests as they 
arrived with the hour’s postponement, and the de- 
ception he was to play on the bride. The guests 
accordingly walked over to the Holland House, and 
the bride and groom held a preliminary reception, 


328 = «- Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


while in the church the service was being read over 
the dead. 

Immediately after the funeral service, O. Henry’s 
body was removed to the Pennsylvania Station, 
for burial in North Carolina, his homeland. 

The bride and groom were married at noon. 
The church gave no sign nor did Dr. Houghton 
make any reference to what had gone before. 

After the wedding breakfast, the newly-weds 
motored up Fifth Avenue. An isolated mass of 
black cloud swept across the brilliant sky, carrying 
with it a sharp but brief downpour, so that at the 
same moment there were both sunshine and 
shower. 

In the train the next day on their way to Lake 
Mohonk, Mr. Thomas handed his wife the morning 
newspaper. Putting his finger on the account of O. 
Henry’s funeral, he said: 

““That’s the girl that got ahead of you at the 
church.”’ 

*Why—isn’t that strange—there wasn’t a wed- 
ding—it was a funeral.”’ 

Now that it was past, the news did not shock 
her. She was only sorry to learn that O. Henry 
was dead. She had been so busy before the wed- 
ding that she had not read the newspapers. 

At just about the same hour that the bride and 
groom reached Lake Mohonk for their honeymoon, 
a widow reached Asheville with her husband’s 
body. 


Crossways of ‘‘ Roads of Destiny ”’ 329 


“* Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with 
sniffles predominating,” wrote the author of “‘ Gifts 
of the Magi.” It was peculiarly fitting that, in the 
closing paragraph of his own life, Sorrow and Hap- 
piness should jostle each other. 


“SUNSET AND EVENING STAR” 


May 19, 1921: Jubilee at The Little Church 
Around the Corner—a golden anniversary that 
is near to being also both silver and diamond. 

A half-century ago this day George Clarke 
Houghton was ordained a priest in the Protestant 
Episcopal Church; near a quarter-century ago 
that he became the rector of The Little Church; 
close to three-quarters of a century since his pred- 
ecessor, his uncle, George Hendric Houghton, 
founded the church. 

The older man, who knew this neighborhood 
when it was vacant lots, has long since turned to 
dust. His nephew, the boy who played “tag” 
around the lumber piles when the building boom 
covered the vacant lots with rows of brown- 
stone houses, is that old man who sits in the chair, 
on the churchyard lawn, in the warm sunshine, 
awaiting a procession. He had help when he went 
to that chair; he will need help when he leaves it. 

Men grow old, pass on. Often their works have 
had their day and been forgotten, long before 
their authors are called from the stage. But the 
old man sitting in that chair can look at the work 

330 


‘Sunset and Ebening Star ”’ 331 


of the Houghtons, uncle and nephew, and see it, 
seventy-three years old, still strong, vital, com- 
manding both affection and respect. 

The rows of brownstone houses are gone. They 
have given way to towering lofts and office build- 
ings. The Little Church remains, an oasis of 
peace and friendliness amid the roar and rush of 
metropolitan business, the churchyard a tiny 
oasis of green in arid canyons of brick and steel. 

But the procession is coming! 

It turns through the Lich-Gate, winds up the 
churchyard path: Taper-bearer, crucifer, flag and 
banner bearers, members of societies, vestrymen, 
secular ministers, clergymen from many far- 
scattered parishes, former clergy of the parish, 
parish clergy, older acolytes, the celebrant, other 
acolytes, sacristan, bishops’ chaplains, the Pre- 
siding Bishop and the Bishop of the Diocese. 

That long, winding double line—how many old 
familiar faces are in it—how many scenes from 
auld lang syne it must awaken in the memory of 
the old man who waves greetings as the proces- 
sion bears past him, a few grizzled faces of boy- 
hood friends, some that he had known in his 
student days, many that he had known sometime 
during those fifty years of priesthood. 

When the procession has passed through the 
Lich-Gate, the old man is helped to his feet, and, 
leaving the chair that stands near the little sign 
that he had placed in his churchyard more than 


332 §=The Little Church Around the Corner 


a score of years ago, welcoming all those in 
“trouble, sorrow, need, sickness or any other 
adversity,” he walks to a place in the line just 
before the two bishops. 

As the procession enters the church, it moves 
more slowly, for the old man’s steps are halting. 

Every pew is filled: Parishioners, former parish- 
ioners, old couples and younger couples who in 
some by-gone year had passed through the Lich- 
Gate—into the world—‘“man and wife,” repre- 
sentatives of clubs, actors and actresses, business 
men who have left their daily grind in the neigh- 
boring canyons of brick and steel, and a sprink- 
ling of old colored folk. 

The altar, the pulpit, the rood wall are banked 
high with flowers—a fragrant mosaic of friend- 
ship—many of the pieces ordered by telegraph 
or cable by distant well-wishers. 

There is an elaborate musical service. It 
began with processionals—one of them composed 
for the occasion—when the double line began to 
move through Twenty-ninth Street. 

From his stall in the choir, that has known him 
so many years, the old man reads the gospel, on 
each side of him an acolyte with lighted taper. 
That is his only active participation. During 
most of the service he remains seated. 

The Rt. Rev. Thomas F. Gailor, Presiding 
Bishop, preaches the sermon. 

A celebration of the Holy Communion, by the 


“Sunset and Cbening Star” 333 


Rev. Shirley Carter Hughson, Superior of the 
Order of the Holy Cross. 

The Rt. Rev. William T. Manning, Bishop of 
the Diocese, makes an address of congratulation, 
and pronounces the blessing. 

Then comes that touch that makes The Little 
Church unique. Elsie Ferguson, on behalf of 
the Actors’ Equity Association, presents a hand- 
illuminated scroll; Grant Stewart, for the Lambs 
Club, presents a silver loving cup. 


And during those days of May, 1921, there had 
been rapidly accumulating, on a table in Dr. 
Houghton’s study, a stack of letters, some hun- 
dreds of them. What a sheaf of good wishes! 
What a garnering for the autumn of one’s life! 
I wonder by what figure many a modern Croesus 
would multiply his philanthropies, could he but 
feel the warmth, in his old age, of such a harvest 
of kindly sentiment. 


A few straws from the sheaf: 


May I be permitted to add my felicitations 
to the many that you are receiving? Nothing 
would please me more than to be present with 
you on Thursday. I am sure your former 
choir- and office-boy would feel more impor- 
tant than either Bishop Gailor or Bishop Man- 
ning, if he could be there to congratulate you. 


334 The Little Church Around the Corner 


He never will forget what the dear old church 
has meant to him, and what it has done for 
him. . . . (From a deanery in Minnesota.) 


Goop Morning, Sir. 

This to wish you every good thing in life 
and many more years of golden sunshine. If 
the others you joined in matrimony are half as 
happy as my good wife and I, you have earned 
a choice place in Heaven for helping to make 
this old world a mighty good place to Live and 
Love in. 

With kindest regards from Mrs. J——, her 
Three Bonnie Bairnies, and 

Sincerely yours, 


Wil Need: 


. . I think back over those forty years of 
the fifty the culmination of which you are so 
happily celebrating and I acknowledge with 
gratitude the many, many instances of your 
goodness to me. Above all, I keep most in 
heart, your love and your comforting aid when 
my dear child was so suddenly and so tragically 
called away. . . . 

Wishing you every blessing, believe me 
always 
Affectionately yours, 
W. M. P. 


“Sunset and Ebening Star ’”’ 335 


Dear Dr. Hovucuton, 

We saw your picture in the paper this evening 
and are so happy over it that we want to write 
and tell you so. 

Mother told us all about this morning, how 
wonderful it was and how wonderful you were. 

We are so glad you are nearly well. 

You have remembered us on holidays and we 
want to remember you on your holiday by 
sending our very best love and a kiss on each 
cheek from 

Your little friends 
GALE AND FLorInDA C—— 


Dear Doctor: 

May I intrude just long enough to drop at 
your feet some hearty old school Presbyterian 
congratulations? 

Yours very sincerely, 
HamiLtton O—— 


From the other side of the world, near two 
months late: 


Dear Dr. Hovucuton: 

It is a far cry from East 29th Street, New 
York, to Rue Dillon, in the French Concession 
of Tientsin—yet not so far that an account of 
your 50th Anniversary at our well-beloved 


336 «The Little Church Around the Corner 


“Little Church” has. not reached two of your 
‘children,’ who take this opportunity to send 
a belated greeting and message of congratula- 
tion across the separating miles. 

Much, much water and quite a little real 
estate has passed beneath the wandering feet 
of Anne and Dudley B since you gave them 
your serene benediction, all but eight years ago 
—yet there have been few of those 95 months 
which have not engraved upon them, in one 
hieroglyph or another, an affectionate thought 
of (and for) the kindly, all-human pastor who 
sent them out into the world, hand in hand, 
with such splendid slogans emblazoned on their 
marital standard! 

May His hand guide and support you, His 
love strengthen and sustain you, and His spirit 
comfort and content you until such time as 
the Trumpet shall sound and you shall enter, 
in glory, into the House in which there are 
““many mansions,” there to receive the reward 
which is surely in store for you. 

With sincere reverence and felicitations, we 
are, 





Cordially yours, 
ANNE & DupLEY B—— 


Except when there is a breaking of the tab- 
lets, a heresy trial, pagan dances introduced in 
Christian church, the newspaper of today gives 


“Sunset and Evening Star ”’ 337 


small space to church news. Yet this jubilee, 
this anniversary of fifty years of unsensational 
service in the priesthood, was chronicled in the 
newspapers throughout the nation. Eloquent 
evidence of the wide friendship for The Little 
Church! 


GOD BLESS HIM! 


Almost fifty years have passed since Joe 
Jefferson, seeking a clergyman to read the 
burial service over the body of versatile and 
well beloved George Holland, was told by a 
pastor of little vision that the funeral of an 
actor would not be permitted from the house 
of God over which he presided, but that there 
was a “little church around the corner”’ wherein 
it might be held. “‘God bless The Little Church 
Around the Corner!”’ exclaimed Jefferson, and 
into Twenty-ninth Street he went to the Church 
of the Transfiguration, where the Rev. George 
Hendric Houghton received him with sym- 
pathy and understanding. The name thus 
given to that church has achieved worldwide 
fame; wherever it is uttered men and women 
think of kindly interest, of benevolent assist- 
ance wisely administered, of friendship and 
inspiration from priests whose simplicity of 
mind is the reflex of their wide experience and 
truly Christian faith. 


338 = Whe Little Church Around the Corner 


For George Hendric Houghton, as he was 
good and generous in life, was fortunate in 
death to have a worthy man to succeed him in 
the rectorship of The Little Church Around 
the Corner. This was his nephew, the Rev. 
George Clarke Houghton, who took up his 
uncle’s office in 1897, and today celebrates the 
fiftieth anniversary of his ordering to the 
priesthood. There will be beautiful and appro- 
priate services, magnificent music, the mystic 
beauty of lights and rich vestments, an elo- 
quent sermon in The Little Church Around the 
Corner today. There will be notables and dig- 
nitaries, ecclesiastical and civil, to do churchly 
honor and pay official respect to Dr. Hough- 
ton; which is as it should be. 

But more than this. As Dr. Houghton sees 
and hears these tributes to years well spent for 
others there will be another tribute to him. It 
will come from men and women, scattered 
through the town, the country, the whole 
world, who in sorrow or in distress, in the joy 
of love or the misery of disgrace, sought an 
ever open door beyond which, knowledge sup- 
ported by brotherly love, experience enlight- 
ened by charity, trust in humanity fortified 
by faith in God, have bound up their wounds of 
heart or conscience or soul and sent them out 
with renewed strength to fight the battle of 
life. On the lips of these grateful ones will be 


“Sunset and Ebening Star ”’ 339 


the words “‘God bless Dr. Houghton and The 
Little Church Around the Corner!”’ 
(Editorial, New York Herald, May 19, 1921.) 


Death came on leaden feet. 

The illness that for several years had been 
sapping his strength, now tied him to an invalid’s 
chair. Time and again he sat there through the 
night, unable to breathe if he lay down. It was a 
wheel-chair in which he sat, and his favorite 
place for it was in the corner of his study, by a 
window overlooking the churchyard. 

Ghosts! a churchyard full of ghosts! 

Doubtless, he called them memories—of old 
parishioners, old friends. 


As the years have stretched in numbers, we 
have more and more often had occasion to 
march to the beat of muffled drums. 


The old ranks had thinned woefully. 

Memorial tablets—to those whom he _ had 
known for long years, people with whom he had 
worked and upon whose help he had depended— 
these memorial tablets were multiplying in The 
Little Church. 

There was James Potter Dod—‘our good 
Asaph,” Dr. George Hendric Houghton used to 
call him—organist since the introduction of the 
vested choir in 1881. A little man, filled with a 


340 The Little Church Around the Corner 


big-enthusiasm for his work; in his almost two 
score years of service, he took but one vacation 
(after a serious illness). At Dr. George Clarke 
Houghton’s request, his college, Saint Stephen’s, 
had given the organist the degree of Doctor of 
Music. Thereupon, the old man’s sisters had 
cards engraved for him—Doctor James Potter 
Dod. He showed them to Dr. Houghton: ‘“‘Do 
you think it would be good taste for me to use 
these?”’ and had difficulty concealing his delight 
when the Rector assured him that it would be. 
And now—a memorial tablet near the organ pipes 
that he had so often made vocal. 

And there was William Franklin Adams, a 
man of education, one of those mild souls, un- 
fitted to struggle in the big maelstrom, who 
drift into some little back-eddy. For years 
he had held a clerical position in the publication 
office of The Churchman. Every morning, 6.30. 
found him in the sacristy of The Little Church. 
He got out the vestments and the sacred vessels, 
and served at the 7 o’clock Mass. This was a 
labor of love that began in the days of the former 
Rector and continued for thirty years. Then, his 
health failing, he had to give up his clerical posi- 
tion. He came to live in the Parish House and 
was given a salary. He assisted at weddings, 
baptisms—was one on whom the Rector could 
always depend to see that all the detail of eccle- 
silastic ceremonial was properly arranged. And 





Photo by Mrs. H,. A. Hurlbut 


Dr. George Clarke Houghton 
(The last photograph taken of him) 


An invalid, at his country home at Bedford Village. 


His two visitors: 


(Left) Bishop Cortlandt Whitehead 
(Right) Bishop Sidney Catlin Partridge 





“Sunset and Evening Star ”’ 341 


now—a bronze tablet in the Mortuary Chapel: 
William Franklin Adams, Forty Years Sacristan 
of the Parish. 

Close to that tablet, another: William Judson 
Minor, Thirty Years Sexton. 

Then, in quick succession, seven who had been 
parishioners since the days of his uncle—old 
friends, staunch supporters—followed organist 
and sacristan and sexton. 

Ghosts! a churchyard full of ghosts! 


One afternoon, his daughter—faithful attend- 
ant in these years of sickness—returning from a 
shopping trip, saw by his face that he was in the 
blues. 

“Well, Towser, what have you been doing 
while I was away?”’ 

“Barking!” he snapped; then burst out 
laughing. 

The shopping trips of his daughter often in- 
cluded a visit to the toy shop. Dr. Houghton 
always had in his study a little store of play- 
things, so that there would be a gift to brighten 
the hearts and the eyes of his little visitors. 

A man who had always been active, who had 
always been devoted to his work, the impris- 
onment of invalidism chafed, galled; but neither 
age nor suffering had soured the milk of human 
kindness. 

And the old whimsical humor was still a-light. 


342 «The Little Church Around the Corner 


In a previous chapter I have told of the So- 
cratic marionettes that gave the Rector, con- 
cealed behind the editorial proscenium, the oppor- 
tunity to talk, zndirectly, to his parishioners. 

In the early days of her father’s imprisonment 
in the invalid’s chair, the daughter was surprised 
to hear a conversation going on in the study. She 
did not know any visitor had been admitted. She 
listened. 


Strange Voice:—*“‘ Wouldn’t you like some ice 
cream for dinner today, Dr. Houghton?” 

Her Father's Voice: —“ Yes, Id like some very 
much indeed.”’ 

Strange Voice:—“Well, why don’t you ask 
your daughter to get some?”’ 

Her Father’s Voice:—‘Oh, I don’t want to 
bother her. I’m enough of a nuisance as it 
asa 


Dr. Houghton had ice cream for dinner that 
day. 

Some ladies had come to call on the sick man. 
The daughter was seeing them out. 


Strange Voice:—“‘T’ve been watching the 
clock—can you believe it, Dr. Houghton— 
those women have been talking steadily for 
twenty-two minutes. ”’ 

Her Father's Voice:—“Oh, yes: when women 


‘‘ Sunset and Evening Star ”’ 343 


get together they always have a lot to talk 
about.” 

Strange Voice:—“But I think it’s a shame 
to leave an old man who’s sick, all alone.”’ 

Her Father's Voice:—*‘No—I don’t like to 
hear you say that—it isn’t right—every one 
is very kind to me.”’ 


Dr. Houghton rarely bothered any one with 
the whims that are a part of invalidism: the 
“Strange Voice” was the handy medium through 
which most of his little wants were made known. 


On a Sunday morning, when his condition per- 
mitted it, he was assisted into the church and 
took some part in the service. These renewals of 
his old life, fragmentary as they were, were a 
great pleasure to him. 

Easter Sunday, 1923, he was very anxious to 
participate in the service, or, if not a participa- 
tion, then at least to be in the church. But his 
physicians, Dr. Samuel W. Lambert and Dr. 
Edward Cussler, told him that it was impossible. 

To his daughter he said: “I know I shall never 
go into the church again until I am carried there.” 

When the service in the church was finished, 
the choir came into the old-time study, now a 
sick room, and sang the Easter songs. 

And now, at Dr. Houghton’s request, the Vestry 
appointed a Vicar. 


344 The Little Church Around the Corner 


April 15, 1923. 
My DEAR PEOPLE: 

In the time which God Himself has arranged, 

as He did twenty-five years ago in my case, 
when I was called here to be of such assistance 
as it might be in His good providence to my 
uncle, of saintly memory and of most devout 
love, the time has come when I am unable to 
fulfill all the duties which, twenty-five years 
ago, I was quite able to carry out, but I feel 
that I can no longer be responsible, humanly 
speaking, for the labors that belong to my 
office as Rector, but that I would have some- 
one on whose shoulders I could lean and feel 
that they were strong to do the work which 
the dear Lord appointed for me long ago. 
I am presenting to you today the Rev. Jacks 
son H. Randolph Ray, who by my wish your 
Vestry have so graciously allotted me, who 
will, I believe, be strong in the work necessary 
to be carried out in this part of God’s vine- 
yard. I commend him to you. I commend 
him to you with my love. . . . 

. The Vestry have been kind enough 
to say that I shall rest, or work as it pleases 
me, and I am grateful for their permission so 
TOGO an 

. . . I will go as often as it shall be pleas- 
ing to Almighty God to speak a word, and to 
say a prayer with you or to do whatsoever it 


‘Sunset and Ebening Star ’’ 345 


shall please God to give me strength and health 
to do, but in the meantime, through the Ves- 
try, I have my leisure to gain strength and 
gain health here in God’s vineyard. 

And to you, my dear friend, Grn ii am 
placing before the people as my chief help- 
mate in this work, I bid Godspeed, and may 
God the Father, and may God the Son, and 
may God the Holy Ghost, give you day by 
day and hour by hour, the blessing you need, 
and the blessing that will be required for 
that work of great importance which shall 
rest upon your shoulders. . . . God bless 
you. 


GEORGE C. HovucutTon. 


Two days later, Dr. Houghton was alone with 
the nurse in the sick room. 

His daughter, who was coming up the stairs, 
heard him cry out suddenly: 

“I’m dying!”’ 

The daughter called down the stairs, to the 
secretary in the office: 

“Get Dr. Ray—quick! Tell him to bring the 
Sacraments!” 

Her father nodded, yes. It was his last com- 
munication with mortal. 

The Reserved Sacraments were kept in the 
Tabernacle on the Altar of the Lady Chapel— 


346 The Little Church Around the Corner 


the memorial to the wife of the dying priest; and 
from thence his last spiritual food was brought 
him. 


Four days later, impressive ceremonies at The 
Little Church—four Requiem Masses, a funeral 
service—many people, distinguished clergy, dis- 
tinguished pall-bearers. 

Of all that was done in honor of the dead rec- 
tor, that which was done by the police tells the 
most. 

If I wanted to know the unknown life of a well 
known man, I would ask the police of his home 
town. They are about at all hours of the day 
and night; they come in contact with all classes 
of people. They see much; they hear much. 
Hard-shelled, tender-hearted, they know the man 
*“‘who’s right.” 

Voluntarily, the Police Department closed 
Twenty-ninth Street to traffic, while the funeral 
was being held; voluntarily, it sent an escort for 
the hearse. From The Little Church, up Fifth 
Avenue, through Forty-second Street to the 
Grand Central Depot, the funeral procession 
moved without a stop. Through those traffic- 
congested thoroughfares, the dead rector was 
given the right of way. 


It was the last journey to Kensico Cemetery. 
The body was placed in the vault, beside the 


“Sunset and Evening Star ”’ 347 


one who had lain there those twenty-one long 
years. 


John Anderson my jo, John, 
We clamb the hill thegither, 
And many a canty day, John, 
We've had wv’ ane anither: 
Now we maun totter down, John, 
But hand in hand we’ ll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson my jo. 


He had come down the hill alone. Now they 
slept “thegither at the foot.” 


Wh 

fh 

4s 
Hen 


' 





The Fabulous Forties 


By 


Meade Minnigerode 


A picture of New York and America 
in the Forties when Fanny Elssler, be- 
loved of L’Aiglon, danced at the Park 
Row Theatre while pigs roamed the 
streets outside; when Dickens roused 
New York and Boston to a violent rage 
by his memoir of an American trip; 
when citizens were killed in Astor Place 
during the riots between partisans of the 
actors — Forrest and Macready. Mr. 
Minnigerode, author of The Seven Hills, 
has captured the absurd naiveté of 
America’s adolescent period and has 
illustrated his work with a fine set of 
old prints characteristic of the time. 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons 
New York London 





The Fittings, Furniture, 
and Accessories, of the 


English Parish Church 


By 
Rev. J. C. Cox, LL.D. 


A popular general historical and de- 
scriptive survey, touching on Church- 
yards, Monuments, Towers, Bells, Fonts 
and Covers, Seating, Lecterns, Pulpits, 
Organs, Altars, Candelabra, and many 
other features of interest. Profusely 
illustrated, with over 250 photographs 
and drawings, showing the chief types 
of Church Fittings and Accessories over 


a period of eight centuries. 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons 
New York London 





Statues of New York 


By 
J. Sanford Saltus 


and 


Walter E. Tisne 


This complete and accurate account 
of the statues of New York City, their 
history, donors, and claims to notice, is 
valuable historically and as an object 
lesson to New York and every other 


American city. 


Illustrated 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons 
New York London 





By ih 
Patyaty 


Ay 


NaS ape 
\ ie! 
i M 4% 


ned at 
why 
il 


jem 


mao ii by nae 

Ah A Waa rt ‘a 

cs LAL 
iV ane wed 

Pay) tt ( ne 


“Y 
DF to tee 


TA a 
Let ALE) ; 
i Ne at nts 


yee) 











ApH) 
qt 
> 
: 


i 
ea 


2 ear 


So a i 


Wan iV Aart 
“SS? AR. 
Vestry, OTS 

’ fr 
t Wa 





IN 


5924 


1 1012 00020 


ll 


Cotes, 


CLSIELEELLE 
epee 


ws 


Lo, 
PZ g 
fp ZH 


Princeton Theological Seminary—Speer Library 


ie 
is 


NI 


= 
vu 
[= 
- 
oO 
oO 
wv 
<= 
~ 
wc 
c 
s 
oO 
a 
La] 
= 
Oo 
he 
= 
= 
vo 
a4 
~ 
= 
— 
vy 
<= 
i 


N 
= 
™~ 
— 
wo 
= 
oO 
N 
Co 
wy) 
x< 
aa) 


Z iy Z oe ie i 


ies Leis 


\ 


Ly 
Lies 


7 LIES. ee 
Yee Ge PODE Z Loe 4 


a, 


Cin 
GLEE 


laa, 


ote 


WN 


LY ti; LL LE 
Ze Z Lies 


. 
SY 


AY 
SYS 
. 


\ 
. 


SS 


. 
ON 


os 
\Y 





Ze Z SLE 
4 en A 


